“I always feel, herrs, when I have had to do with an accident, that I have been in fault, and that I have to examine myself as to what I had left undone; but here I cannot see that I neglected anything. The crevasse was not wide. I had seen you both leap in safety, and I followed. It was one of the misfortunes that happen to people, whether they are mountaineers or quiet dwellers in the valley.”
“Yes; a terrible accident, Melchior.”
“Yes, herr. Sometimes we go to mishaps, sometimes they come to us. Well, Heaven be thanked, my life was spared. Ah! herr, I am very proud of you two, for I seem to have taught you a little. Very few of our men would have worked more bravely, or done so well.”
“Oh, nonsense! We acted as any one else would under the circumstances,” said Dale hastily. “Tell us about your accident.”
“My fall, herr? There is very little to tell.”
“Little!” echoed Saxe. “Oh, go on: tell us!”
“Very well, herr,” said Melchior simply; but he remained silent.
“We thought you were killed,” said Dale, to bring the guide’s thoughts back.
“Yes, herr; you would. It was a bad fall; very deep, but not like going down from a mountain. I am not broken anywhere; hardly scratched, except my hands and arms in climbing.”
“But you jumped across the crevasse, Melk!” cried Saxe, “and then a great piece broke out.”