Stupefied, dozing, unable to stand upon his feet, a veil before his eyes, his sense of hearing deadened, he made such a vigorous rally that, supporting himself on his hands, he saw his enemy standing calmly over him, and heard him speak.  “You call me murderer,” said Obenreizer, with a grim laugh.  “The name matters very little.  But at least I have set my life against yours, for I am surrounded by dangers, and may never make my way out of this place.  The Tourmente is rising again.  The snow is on the whirl.  I must have the papers now.  Every moment has my life in it.”

“Stop!” cried Vendale, in a terrible voice, staggering up with a last flash of fire breaking out of him, and clutching the thievish hands at his breast, in both of his.  “Stop!  Stand away from me!  God bless my Marguerite!  Happily she will never know how I died.  Stand off from me, and let me look at your murderous face.  Let it remind me—­of something—­left to say.”

The sight of him fighting so hard for his senses, and the doubt whether he might not for the instant be possessed by the strength of a dozen men, kept his opponent still.  Wildly glaring at him, Vendale faltered out the broken words: 

“It shall not be—­the trust—­of the dead—­betrayed by me—­reputed parents—­misinherited fortune—­see to it!”

As his head dropped on his breast, and he stumbled on the brink of the chasm as before, the thievish hands went once more, quick and busy, to his breast.  He made a convulsive attempt to cry “No!” desperately rolled himself over into the gulf; and sank away from his enemy’s touch, like a phantom in a dreadful dream.

* * * * *

The mountain storm raged again, and passed again.  The awful mountain-voices died away, the moon rose, and the soft and silent snow fell.

Two men and two large dogs came out at the door of the Hospice.  The men looked carefully around them, and up at the sky.  The dogs rolled in the snow, and took it into their mouths, and cast it up with their paws.

One of the men said to the other:  “We may venture now.  We may find them in one of the five Refuges.”  Each fastened on his back a basket; each took in his hand a strong spiked pole; each girded under his arms a looped end of a stout rope, so that they were tied together.

Suddenly the dogs desisted from their gambols in the snow, stood looking down the ascent, put their noses up, put their noses down, became greatly excited, and broke into a deep loud bay together.

The two men looked in the faces of the two dogs.  The two dogs looked, with at least equal intelligence, in the faces of the two men.

“Au secours, then!  Help!  To the rescue!” cried the two men.  The two dogs, with a glad, deep, generous bark, bounded away.

“Two more mad ones!” said the men, stricken motionless, and looking away in the moonlight.  “Is it possible in such weather!  And one of them a woman!”