“But where is John?” she queried. “I hope he is all right. It was very foolish for us to venture up here after the warm Foehn of yesterday,—wasn’t it?”
“I expect John is all right,” I said. “He warned us, and no doubt took precautions.” Guides in the Alps seldom fail.
With difficulty we wriggled out of the snow and stood up. Even in our shaken condition we could not but admire the panorama of the Eiger, the Jungfrau and the Wetterhorn, across the darkening valley before us. But haste was imperative: the light was fading quickly and we were a long way from Mürren.
I had lost one of my skis, which had been torn from its strong Huitfeldt binding in our fall. Mrs. Audley’s, however, were intact, and we started to descend. She soon recovered in the keen Alpine air, and was able to help me, lame dog that I was. Repeatedly we gave the six shouts recognized as the regular Alpine distress call, but there was no reply.
It was quite dark when we struggled back, to find that our guide, having happily escaped, had arrived before us and sent out a search-party. By shouts and flashing signals, this was soon recalled.
At the hotel they put Thelma to bed at once, while after the Swiss doctor had seen to my head, I sat in the bar recounting my experience and drinking a strong whiskey and soda.
Dr. Feng and Humphreys were both most eager to know the details of our adventure. But later the doctor said—
“I think you are very foolish, Yelverton! You ought never to have had anything to do with the bride, she will only bring trouble upon you. Humphreys agrees with me. You’re a young fool!”
“Probably I am,” I replied laughing! “I very nearly lost my life over it today.”
“You are a regular Don Quixote,” he said. “Well, I admire you after all. You would be a fine young fellow, if you were just a little more cautious.”