By half-past two they were off. Pressford, lantern in hand, took the lead, walking after his usual habit slightly in advance and apart, even when there was no need. Doris in her eagerness would have hurried ahead, not heeding one or two stumbles; but she was at once checked.
"You must husband your powers," Maurice said. "Steady, please. Pressford will set the pace."
She realised the wisdom of this later, when she found how she could keep on hour after hour at a swinging stride, with no tendency to flag.
For some distance they followed the main road; and then came an easy rise by pathway, till they gained an upland, and by-and-by entered a pine-forest, where reigned pitchy darkness. When after a considerable time they emerged, it was upon a stony alp. Darkness made their footing here far from easy, since they had left all vestige of a path behind; and starlight gleams seconded but feebly the glimmer of their lantern.
Not far from three hours after quitting the hotel, they reached the first belt of rocks. Here a pause was made for their first mountain breakfast,—that movable feast which goes on at intervals of two hours, until, on the way home, the climbers have "breakfast at afternoon tea."
It was, as it always has to be, a light meal; consisting this time of bread and potted meat. Maurice found a comfortable seat for Doris, supplied her wants, and placed himself near. A few remarks passed; and with a gesture of his hand towards the east he said: "See! Dawn is coming."
A bank of cloud lay low, and between it and the horizon, a pale grey glimmer had begun. As they gazed, a pink hue crept into the grey;—dim, indeterminate, a mere suggestion of what would follow. Yet in that tender gleam lived hope "sure and certain" of high noontide. They had to wait for it; but it would come!
Pressford stood up, a sign that they were to do the same. The rocky belt which had now to be surmounted meant a good two hours of work, difficult ax first in the morning twilight, though each minute made a difference with the growth of light. Doris had to pay careful attention to her steps; and Maurice, close behind, gave an occasional hint, when needed.
A halt again was ordered, that they might watch the coming sunrise.
It was Doris's first view of their widened horizon. She stood on a ledge; Maurice one step lower; Pressford a pace above. The cold was biting. A slight breeze, like liquid ice, crept past; and despite her exertions, she could scarcely feel her fingers.