He was not a youth of much imagination or poetry, but he did feel a strange thrilling of the pulses as he looked upon this wonderful sight.

But Lord Claud’s face was cool and impassive as usual, and his remark was: 

“Very fine to look at, good Tom, but ugly customers to tackle.  A snowstorm up amongst those mountain peaks may well be the death of either or both of us, and the snow will be our winding sheet.”

“Have we to cross those snows, my lord? to scale those lofty peaks?”

“We shall have plenty of snow, Tom, without scaling the peaks.  At this season the passes will be deep in snow.  We shall have to trust to a guide to take us safely over; and the very guide may be a spy and a traitor himself.”

“But, my lord, I thought you knew the way?  I thought you had crossed the pass once?”

“So I have, Tom; but these snow fields are treacherous places, and the track shifts and changes with every winter’s snow.  You will see, when you get amongst them, what a savage scene they present.  In summer it is none so bad; but we are yet in the grip of winter, and though the foothold is harder and better on the ice slopes, the cold is keen and cruel, and the snowfalls frequent and dangerous.”

“And the horses, my lord?”

“Those we must needs leave behind us for a while, Tom.  I do not say that we could not get them over, for, methinks, Hannibal must needs have brought his horsemen across in days of yore, and where any other horse has been, there could Lucifer and Nell Gwynne travel.  But I fear the poor beasts would suffer sorely; and I misdoubt me if they would not be more care than use to us.  They have done their work gallantly, so far; and they will take us back as gallantly, I doubt not, when our task is done.  Meantime, I know a pleasant and sheltered valley, where dwell some honest folk with whom I tarried in bygone days, to heal me of a fever I had caught in the hot Italian plains.  There we will leave them; and there, Tom, if we lose sight of each other, will we meet when our appointed tasks be done.

“There are two places where we may find a safe asylum in this wild land.  One is the valley to which we are now bending our steps, which nestles not far from the foot of the great mountain men call the St. Bernard; the other is at the hospice upon the Great St. Bernard itself, where is a colony of devout and kindly monks, who give their succour to travellers of every nationality and creed, and where a safe shelter may always be found.  Moreover, the monks have a certain intercourse with the inhabitants of the valleys round and about, and we could thus have news of each other were one of us there and the other here below.

“But we will not part company save for urgent need; yet ’tis well always to be prepared.”

Travelling was becoming increasingly difficult and trying as they mounted into higher regions, and the roads became mere bridle paths, often encumbered with snow drifts, and difficult to traverse.