While daylight lasted, she sat at the telescope, searching and searching, till her eyes grew dim and dazzled with the strain. That one tiny dark figure was always there; moving from time to time, yet never straying far. Beatrice built much upon the fact. If the fallen man were dead, why should his friend stay? On the other hand, if the fallen man were alive, would not his friend go in quest of help? Hope was put to a severe test.
Amy, as she found her efforts to bestow comfort of small use, went indoors and fell asleep; but Bee could not rest. When darkness made the telescope of no avail, she walked up and down outside the hotel, scarcely conscious of the cold, turning gently from well-meant attempts on the part of the hotel people to cheer her up, and picturing to herself without cessation Ivor dying or dead, or at best waiting on the lone island of rock, in cold and hunger and discomfort, resolute not to quit his friend.
If only he might escape with life, she would be content to ask no more. He might never think of her; he might never care for her; they might never meet again; but still he would be alive. She did not know how to endure the thought of a world which would no longer contain him.
Mastered at length by Amy's entreaties, she too went into the hotel, and lay down under blankets, refusing to undress. When Amy again dropped soundly off, she arose and seated herself at the window, to gaze in the direction of the spot where, perhaps, Ivor still was; or looking up at the calm stars overhead, to wonder whether already his spirit might have taken flight to those sublime heights; and how soon—if indeed it were so—she might be permitted to follow. Would it be wrong to wish to go—not to have to wait very long?
Then, refusing to admit any such possibilities, she imagined the guides drawing near to the scene of disaster, and tried to see, as in a vision, how they would rescue the fallen man. Though Peter had not told her exactly what it was that he conjectured, she had been quick to put two and two together, quick to read his thoughts. He had spoken of the bergshrund before the accident; and she knew at least something of what might be involved. Scene after scene passed before her mind's eyes till her brain whirled.
Dawn at last began; and with the earliest gleams of light she again planted herself at the post of observation; long before she could hope to make out anything. Time slowly, slowly dragged by; and patience at length met with its reward.
As day grew into being, she found herself actually witnessing the cautious descent of the couloir by the rescue-party. They hugged the rocks on one side, avoiding the course of the avalanche; and Bee watched, with a trembling hope which could find no utterance, till they reached the islet of rock where that patient watcher had spent his night; and the solitary dark figure was reinforced by other little dark figures. They seemed to pause and consult; then movements took place. What actually happened was that one of the guides attached himself to the full length of the rope, and was let down towards the shrund by the others, till he vanished over its edge. Then, when he reached Ivor, he fastened the rope round him, and they were drawn up together, the guide undermost.
Bee, from her distant post, could make out something of this. She followed the descent of the small dark body, saw it disappear, and with shortened breath waited through interminable minutes till something became visible, coming up slowly out of the depth. Something! But was it one man or two men?
She strained her eyes to see. Yes, certainly—two specks, close together, yet distinct, where only one had been; both apparently being dragged upwards toward where the rest of the party stood. The second might be Lancelot Ivor—or Robert Royston—or only a lifeless form, taken from its snow-prison. Who could tell?
"Anyhow, they've got him," Amy remarked, when Bee in short murmurs told what she saw.