“Monsieur, I do not count myself a friend. I have ever found self to be my greatest enemy. The good God knows how hard I have fought against self for years, and how often—oh, how often—I have been beaten down and overcome. God help me. It is a weary struggle.”
Lecroix’s countenance and tones changed as rapidly as the cloud-forms on his own mountain peaks. His last words were uttered with the deepest pathos, and his now pale face was turned upward, as if he sought for hope from a source higher than the “everlasting hills.” Lewis was amazed at the sudden burst of feeling in one who was unusually quiet and sedate, and stood looking at him in silence.
“Young man,” resumed the hunter, in a calmer tone, laying his large brown hand impressively on the youth’s shoulder, “you have heard aright. I have loved gold too much. If I had resisted the temptation at the first I might have escaped, but I shall yet be saved, ay, despite of self, for there is a Saviour! For years I have sought for gold among these mountains. They tell me it is to be found there, but I have never found it. To-day I intended to have visited yonder yellow cliffs high up on the shoulder of the pass. Do you see them?”
He pointed eagerly, and a strange gleam was in his blue eyes as he went on to say rapidly, and without waiting for an answer—
“I have not yet been up there. It looks a likely place—a very likely place—but your words have turned me from my purpose. The evil spirit is gone for to-day—perhaps for ever. Come,” he added, in a tone of firm determination, “we will cross this crevasse and hasten down to the cave.”
He wrenched himself round while he spoke, as if the hand of some invisible spirit had been holding him, and hurried quickly towards a wide crevasse which crossed their path at that place.
“Had we not better tie ourselves together before attempting it?” suggested Lewis, hastening after him.
Le Croix did not answer, but quickened his pace to a run.
“Not there!” exclaimed Lewis, in sudden alarm. “It is almost too wide for a leap, and the snow on the other side overhangs. Stop! for God’s sake—not there!”
He rushed forward, but was too late. Le Croix was already on the brink of the chasm; next moment, with a tremendous bound, he cleared it, and alighted on the snow beyond. His weight snapped off the mass, his arms were thrown wildly aloft, and, with a shout, rather than a cry, he fell headlong into the dark abyss!