“I am so sorry, Sylvia,” he cried.  “Oh, my dear, I had so hoped we should be in time.  I would have spared you this knowledge if I could.  Who knows?  We may be still in time,” and as he spoke Michel entered the garden with one other man and came toward him.

“Henri Simond!” said Michel, presenting his companion.  “You will know that name.  Simond has just come down from the Grepon, monsieur.  He will start with you at daylight.”

Chayne looked at Simond.  He was of no more than the middle height, but broad of shoulder, deep of chest, and long of arm.  His strength was well known in Chamonix—­as well known as his audacity.

“I am very glad that you can come, Simond,” said Chayne.  “You are the very man;” and then he turned to Michel.  “But we should have another guide.  I need two men.”

“Yes,” said Michel.  “Three men are needed for that climb,” and Chayne left him to believe that it was merely for the climb that he needed another guide.  “But there is Andre Droz already at Courmayeur,” he continued.  “His patron was to leave him there to-day.  A telegram can be sent to him to-morrow bidding him wait.  If he has started, we shall meet him to-morrow on the Col du Geant.  And Droz, monsieur, is the man for you.  He is quick, as quick as you and Simond.  The three of you together will go well.  As for to-morrow, you will need no one else.  But if you do, monsieur, I will go with you.”

“There is no need, Michel,” replied Chayne, gratefully, and thereupon Sylvia plucked him by the sleeve.

“I must go with you to-morrow, Hilary,” she pleaded, wistfully.  “Oh, you won’t leave me here.  Let me come with you as far as possible.  Let me cross to Italy.  I will go quick.  If I get tired, you shall not know.”

“It will be a long day, Sylvia.”

“It cannot be so long as the day I should pass waiting here.”

She wrung her hands as she spoke.  The light from a lamp fixed in the hotel wall fell upon her upturned face.  It was white, her lips trembled, and in her eyes Chayne saw again the look of terror which he had hoped was gone forever.  “Oh, please,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he replied, and he turned again to Simond.  “At two o’clock then.  My wife will go, so bring a mule.  We can leave it at the Montanvert.”

The guides tramped from the garden.  Chayne led his wife toward the hotel, slipping his arm through hers.

“You must get some sleep, Sylvia.”

“Oh, Hilary,” she cried.  “I shall bring shame on you.  We should never have married,” and her voice broke in a sob.

“Hush!” he replied.  “Never say that, my dear, never think it!  Sleep!  You will want your strength to-morrow.”

But Sylvia slept little, and before the time she was ready with her ice-ax in her hand.  At two o’clock they came out from the hotel in the twilight of the morning.  There were two men there.

“Ah! you have come to see us off, Michel,” said Chayne.