“But she was off again, making up the delay, before I could fasten my pack, and when I overtook her in a level stretch and halted a moment to frolic with the dog, her face brightened.  Then she spoke of a little trick she had taught him,—­to go and meet his master and fetch his hat to her.  Sometimes she had hidden it in shrubs, or among rocks, but invariably he had brought it home.

“At last we made a turn and saw the front of the glacier that closed the top of the gorge.  The stream gushed from a cavern at the foot, and above the noise of water sounded the grinding and roaring of subterranean forces at work.  Once in a while a stone was hurled through.  But that is impossible to explain.  You must have been on intimate terms with a glacier to grasp the magnitude.  Still, try to imagine the ice arching that cave like a bridge and lifting back, rimmed in moraine, far and away to the great white dome.  And it was all wrapped in a fine Alpine splendor, so that she stopped beside me in a sort of hushed wonder to look.  But I could hear her breath, laboring hard and quick, and she rocked uncertainly on her feet.  I laid my hand on her arm to steady her.  It was time we turned back.  For half an hour I had been gathering courage to tell her so.  While I hesitated, allowing her a few minutes to take in the glory, the setter ran nosing ahead, up over the wreckage along the edge of the glacier, and on across the bridge.  I waited until he disappeared in a small pocket, then began:  ’You know, madam, what all this color means.  These twilights linger, and it will be easier traveling down-grade, but we must hurry, to have you home before dark.’

“She turned to answer but stopped, looking beyond me to the bridge.  Then I saw the setter had caught her attention.  He was coming back.  His black body moved in strong relief against the ice-field, and I noticed he had something in his mouth.  It seemed about the size and color of a grouse,—­a ptarmigan, no doubt.  Then it flashed over me the thing was a hat.  At the same moment I felt her tremble, and I had just time to see that her face had gone white, when she sank against me, a dead weight.  I carried her a few yards to a bank of heather and laid her down, and while I was filling my folding cup at the stream, the dog bounded over the rocks and dropped the thing on her breast.  It was a hat, a gray felt with a good brim, such as a prospector, or indeed any man who lives in the open, favors; but the setter’s actions,—­he alternately rushed towards the glacier and back to his mistress, with short yelps,—­warned me to be careful, and I tucked the hat out of sight, between two stones.  The dog had it out instantly, bent on giving it to her, but I snatched it from him and threw it into the torrent, where it struck upright, floating lightly on the brim, and lodged in a shallow.  He followed and came bounding back with it, while I was raising the cup to her lips, and I had barely a chance to crowd it into my blanket roll when she opened her eyes.  ‘He had Louis’ hat,’ she said and drifted into unconsciousness again.