said. "But it was a mountain-boy."

He was right. At a curve in the road, they met a young Swiss lad who went
by them with a smile and salute, and fell to whistling again when he had
passed.

Isabel pressed on in silence. She had started in feverish haste, but her
speed was gradually slackening. She looked neither to right nor left; her
eyes perpetually strained forward as though they sought for something
just beyond their range of vision. For a while Scott limped beside her
without speaking, but at last as they sighted the end of the pine-wood he
gently broke the silence.

"Isabel dear, I think we must turn back very soon."

"Oh, why?" she said. "Why? You always say that when--" There came a break
in her voice, and she ceased to speak.

Her pace quickened so that he had some difficulty in keeping up with her,
but he made no protest. With the utmost patience he also pressed on.

But it was not long before her strength began to fail. She stumbled once
or twice, and he put a supporting hand under her elbow. As they neared
the edge of the pines it became evident that the road dwindled to a mere
mountain-path winding steeply upwards through the snow. The sun shone
dazzlingly upon the great waste of whiteness.

Very suddenly Isabel stopped. "He can't have gone this way after all,"
she said, and turned to her brother with eyes of tragic hopelessness.
"Stumpy, Stumpy, what shall I do?"