“No, herr. Heaven be praised! The water is down a hand’s breadth since I looked last. It is falling fast.”
Dale turned sharply round and caught Saxe’s hand, wringing it so hard that he gave him pain. Then, extending his hand to Melchior, the guide took it and held it for a few moments in silence.
“Yes, herr,” he said cheerily; then, “I dare say we shall be through in an hour. The waters flow swiftly, and once the flood is passed the lake soon gets down again. But I’m sorry poor old Gros is gone.”
“I will pay Andregg handsomely for his loss,” said Dale quickly; but the guide shook his head.
“No money will pay for the loss of old friends, herr. Gros has been looked upon as a companion by Andregg for these many years. It will be a bitter thing to go and say he is dead.”
He was silent for a few minutes. Then, raising his voice, he said loudly:
“It seems strange to you English gentlemen; but you come from great cities where people are many, and you can hardly count your friends. Out here in the deep thals, where men are shut up by the snow for weeks together, with only their cows and mules and goats, they grow to look upon the animals about them as friends, just as the poor animals themselves look to their masters for their care, and run to them for help and shelter when the great storms come down. Why, herr, you have seen they live in part of the house. The chalet is built up with a warm shelter beneath for the little flock or herd. Poor Gros! Andregg will nearly break his heart; and,” added the guide simply, “he will not even have the consolation of saving the skin.”
This last notion, in the reaction he felt, sounded so droll to Saxe that he turned away his head for fear the guide should see him smile.
But Melchior saw nothing; and stooping down again, he rose.
“Going down very fast, herr. In another hour I think we may venture to start again.”