It was not in fact so imminent as I supposed, for the descent into Zermatt is somewhat too steep for the conduct of a necessarily delicate debate.  Sound legs go down at a compulsory run, and my companion was continually waiting for me to catch her up, only to shoot ahead again perforce.  Or the path was too narrow for us to walk abreast, and you cannot become confidential in single file; or the noise of falling waters drowned our voices, when we stood together on that precarious platform in the cool depths of the gorge, otherwise such an admirable setting for the scene that I foresaw.  Then it was a beautiful walk in itself, with its short tacks in the precipitous pine-woods above, its sudden plunge into the sunken gorge below, its final sweep across the green valley beyond; and it was all so new to us both that there were impressions to exchange or to compare at every turn.  In fine, and with all the will in the world, it was quite impossible to get in a word about Bob before luncheon at the Monte Rosa, and by that time I for one was in no mood to introduce so difficult a topic.

But an opportunity there came, an opportunity such as even I could not neglect; on the contrary, I made too much of it, as the sequel will show.  It was in the little museum which every tourist goes to see.  We had shuddered over the gruesome relics of the first and worst catastrophe on the Matterhorn, and were looking in silence upon the primitive portraits of the two younger Englishmen who had lost their lives on that historic occasion.  It appeared that they had both been about the same age as Bob Evers, and I pointed this out to my companion.  It was a particularly obvious remark to make; but Mrs. Lascelles turned her face quickly to mine, and the colour left it in the half-lit, half-haunted little room, which we happened to have all to ourselves.

“Don’t let him go up, Captain Clephane; don’t let him, please!”

“Do you mean Bob Evers?” I asked, to gain time while I considered what to say; for the intensity of her manner took me aback.

“You know I do,” said Mrs. Lascelles, impatiently; “don’t let him go up the Matterhorn to-night, or to-morrow morning, or whenever it is that he means to start.”

“But, my dear Mrs. Lascelles, who am I to prevent that young gentleman from doing what he likes?”

“I thought you were more or less related?”

“Rather less than more.”

“But aren’t you very intimate with his mother?”

I had to meet a pretty penetrating look.

“I was once.”

“Well, then, for his mother’s sake you ought to do your best to keep him out of danger, Captain Clephane.”

It was my turn to repay the look which I had just received.  No doubt I did so with only too much interest; no doubt I was equally clumsy of speech; but it was my opportunity, and something or other must be said.

“Quite so, Mrs. Lascelles; and for his mother’s sake,” said I, “I not only will do, I have already done, my best to keep the lad out of harm’s way.  He is the apple of her eye; they are simply all the world to one another.  It would break her heart if anything happened to him—­anything—­if she were to lose him in any sense of the word.”