a chaos of lines and shadows, pale as mother-o’-pearl.  The stars faded, and in a smouldering zigzag the dawn fled along the mountain tops, flinging out little isles of cloud.  From a lake, curled in a hollow like a patch of smoke, came the cry of a water-bird.  A cuckoo started a soft mocking; and close to the carriage a lark flew up.  Beasts and men alike stood still, drinking in the air-sweet with snows and dew, and vibrating faintly with the running of the water and the rustling of the leaves.

The night had played sad tricks with Mr. Nicholas Treffry; his hat was grey with dust; his cheeks brownish-purple, there were heavy pouches beneath his eyes, which stared painfully.

“We’ll call a halt,” he said, “and give the gees their grub, poor things.  Can you find some water, Mr. Harz?  There’s a rubber bucket in behind.

“Can’t get about myself this morning; make that lazy fellow of mine stir his stumps.”

Harz saw that he had drawn off one of his boots, and stretched the foot out on a cushion.

“You’re not fit to go farther,” he said; “you’re ill.”

“Ill!” replied Mr. Treffry; “not a bit of it!”

Harz looked at him, then catching up the bucket, made off in search of water.  When he came back the horses were feeding from an india-rubber trough slung to the pole; they stretched their heads towards the bucket, pushing aside each other’s noses.

The flame in the east had died, but the tops of the larches were bathed in a gentle radiance; and the peaks ahead were like amber.  Everywhere were threads of water, threads of snow, and little threads of dewy green, glistening like gossamer.

Mr. Treffry called out:  “Give me your arm, Mr. Harz; I’d like to shake the reefs out of me.  When one comes to stand over at the knees, it’s no such easy matter, eh?” He groaned as he put his foot down, and gripped the young man’s shoulder as in a vise.  Presently he lowered himself on to a stone.

“‘All over now!’ as Chris would say when she was little; nasty temper she had too—­kick and scream on the floor!  Never lasted long though....  ‘Kiss her! take her up! show her the pictures!’ Amazing fond of pictures Chris was!” He looked dubiously at Harz; then took a long pull at his flask.  “What would the doctor say?  Whisky at four in the morning!  Well!  Thank the Lord Doctors aren’t always with us.”  Sitting on the stone, with one hand pressed against his side, and the other tilting up the flask, he was grey from head to foot.

Harz had dropped on to another stone.  He, too, was worn out by the excitement and fatigue, coming so soon after his illness.  His head was whirling, and the next thing he remembered was a tree walking at him, turning round, yellow from the roots up; everything seemed yellow, even his own feet.  Somebody opposite to him was jumping up and down, a grey bear—­with a hat—­Mr. Treffry!  He cried:  “Ha-alloo!” And the figure seemed to fall and disappear....