The clergyman who ministered to the little tin English Church boarded at
the big hotel, which kept a bedroom and a sitting-room at his disposal.
They faced north from the back of the building, which stood against the
mountain-side; but the sitting-room had a second window at the corner of
the block, and from this the eye went up over a plantation of dark firs
to the white snowfields of the Col and the dark jagged wall of the
Aiguille du Geant--distant, yet as clear as if stencilled against the
blue heaven. It was a delectable vision; but the clergyman, being
short-sighted as a mole, had never seen it. He wore spectacles with a
line running horizontally across them, and through these he peered at
Mr. Frank and Miss Bracy as if uncertain of their distance.
Mr. Frank, in a suit of black, sat at the little round table in the
centre of the room, pressing his finger-tips into the soft nap of a
gaudy French table-cloth. Miss Bracy stood by the window with her back
to the room, but she was listening. She too wore black. The fourth
person, at the little clergyman's elbow, was Christian the guide.
It was he who spoke, while Mr. Frank dug his fingers deeper, and the
clergyman nodded at every pause sympathetically, and both kept their
eyes on the table-cloth, the pink and crimson roses of which on their
background of buff and maroon were to one a blur only, to the other a
pattern bitten on his brain.
"It must have been between noon and one o'clock"--the guide was saying--
"when we crossed the Col and began on the rocks. I was leading, of
course; the Herr next, and Michel"--this was their porter--"behind.
We had halted and lunched at the foot of the rocks. They were nasty,
with a coating, for the most part, of thin ice which we must knock away;
but not really dangerous. The Herr was silent; not singing--he had been
singing and laughing all through the morning--but in high spirits.
He kept his breath now for business. I never knew him fatigued; and
that day I had to beg him once or twice not to press the pace.
Michel was tired, I think, and the wine he had taken earlier had upset
his stomach; also he had been earning wages all the winter in England as
a gentleman's valet and this was his first ascent for the year, so it
may have been that his nerve was wrong.
"The first trouble we had with him was soon after starting on the rocks.
We were roped; and at the first awkward place he said, 'If one of us
should slip now, we are all lost.' The Herr was annoyed, as I have
never seen him; and I too was angry, the more because what he said had
some truth, but it was not, you understand, the moment to say it. After
this we had no great trouble until we had passed the place where Herr
Mummery turned back. About thirty metres from the summit we came to a
bit requiring caution; a small _couloir_ filled with good ice but at a
slope--so!" Here Christian held his open hand aslant, but Mr. Frank did
not lift his eyes. "They anchored themselves and held me while I cut
steps--large steps--across it. On the other side there was no good
foothold within length of the rope, so I cast off, and the Herr came
across in my steps with Michel well anchored. It was now Michel's turn,
and having now the extra length of rope brought across by the Herr, I
could go higher to a rock and moor myself firmly. The Herr was right
enough where he stood, but not to bear any strain; so I told him to cast
off that I might look to Michel alone. While he unknotted his rope I
turned to examine the rock, and at that instant . . . Michel did not
understand, or was impatient to get it over . . . at any rate he started
to cross just as the Herr had both hands busy. He slipped at the third
step . . . I heard, and turned again in time to see the jerk come.
The Herr bent backward, but it was useless: he was torn from his
foothold--"
The little clergyman nodded and broke in: "They were found, close
together, on a ledge two thousand feet below. Your son, sir, was not
much mutilated, though many limbs were broken--and his spine and neck.
The bodies were found the next day and brought down. We did all that
was possible. Shall I take you and madame to the grave?"
But the guide had not finished. "He fell almost on top of Michel, and
the two went spinning down the _couloir_ out of sight. I do not think
that Michel uttered any cry: but the Herr, as the strain came and he
bent backwards against it, seeking to get his axe free and plant
it . . . though that would have been useless . . . the Herr cried once
and very loud . . . such a strange cry!--"
"Madame will be glad," interrupted the clergyman again, who had heard
Christian's story at the inquest,--"Madame will be glad"--he addressed
Miss Bracy, who, as he was dimly aware, had been standing throughout
with face averted, staring up at the far-away cliffs. "The young man's
last thoughts--"
But Christian was not to be denied. He had told the story a score of
times during the last three days, and had assured himself by every
evidence that he could tell it effectively. He was something of an
egoist, too, and the climax he had in mind was that of his own emotions
in recrossing the fatal _couloir_ ropeless, with shaking knees, haunted
by the Englishman's last cry.
"Such a strange cry," he persisted. "His eyes were on mine for a moment
. . . then they turned from me to the _couloir_ and the great space
below, It was then he uttered it, stretching out his hands as the rope
pulled him forward--yet not as one afraid. 'Mother!' he cried: just
that, and only once--'Mother!'"
Mr. Frank looked up sharply, and turned his head towards Miss Bracy.
The clergyman and the guide also had their eyes on her, the latter
waiting for the effect of his climax.
"It must be a consolation to you--" the clergyman began to mumble.
But Miss Bracy did not turn. Mr. Frank withdrew his eyes from her and
fixed them again on the gaudy tablecloth. She continued to stare up at
he clean ice-fields, the pencilled cliffs. She did not even move.
So Bassett was avenged.