It was no more than a natural consequence of his greater experience, that Pierre Dumont understood the horrors of their present situation far better than any with him.  It is true, there yet remained enough light to enable him to pick his way over the rocks and stones, but he had sufficient experience to understand that there was less risk in remaining stationary than in moving; for, while there was only one direction that led towards the Refuge, all the rest would conduct them to a greater distance from the shelter, which was now the only hope.  On the other hand, a very few minutes of the intense cold, and of the searching wind to which they were exposed, would most probably freeze the currents of life in the feebler of those intrusted to his care.

“Hast thou aught to advise?” asked Melchior de Willading, folding Adelheid to his bosom, beneath his ample cloak, and communicating, with a father’s love, a small portion of the meagre warmth that still remained in his own aged frame to that of his drooping daughter—­“canst thou bethink thee of nothing, that may be done, in this awful strait?”

“If the good monks have been active—­” returned the wavering Pierre.  “I fear me that the dogs have not yet been exercised, on the paths, this season!”

“Has it then come to this!  Are our lives indeed dependent on the uncertain sagacity of brutes!”

“Mein Herr, I would bless the Virgin, and her holy Son, if it were so!  But I fear this storm has been so sudden and unexpected, that we may not even hope for their succor.”

Melchior groaned.  He folded his child still nearer to his heart, while the athletic Sigismund shielded his drooping sister, as the fowl shelters its young beneath the wing.

“Delay is death,” rejoined the Signor Grimaldi.  “I have heard of muleteers that have been driven to kill their beasts, that shelter and warmth might be found in their entrails.”

“The alternative is horrible!” interrupted Sigismund.  “Is return impossible?  By always descending, we must, in time reach the village below.”

“That time would be fatal,” answered Pierre.  “I know of only one resource that remains.  If the party will keep together, and answer my shouts I will make another effort to find the path.”

This proposal was gladly accepted, for energy and hope go hand-in-hand, and the guide was about to quit the group, when he felt the strong grasp of Sigismund on his arm.

“I will be thy companion,” said the soldier firmly.

“Thou hast not done me justice, young man,” answered Pierre, with severe reproach in his manner.  “Had I been base enough to desert my trust, these limbs and this strength are yet sufficient to carry me safely down the mountain; but though a guide of the Alps may freeze like another man, the last throb of his heart will be in behalf of those he serves!”

“A thousand pardons brave old man—­a thousand pardons; still, will I be thy companion; the search that is conducted by two will be more likely to succeed, than that on which thou goes alone.”