Part 13 (1/2)

He staggered to his feet; the child hung a dead weight round his neck, she was quite unable to make further effort. What should he do? He could not leave her to perish here, this dear companion of the mountain tops!

Yet thus enc.u.mbered, how could he reach the final height? His strength was spent, his feet were bleeding, his clothes were torn, the wounds of the night before were a throbbing agony beneath the clinging arms of the little girl.

He felt that they were breaking open anew, that his warm blood was slowly trickling down on to the snow, and with each drop that fell his life seemed to be oozing slowly away. And there far above, like the tantalizing vision out of an ethereal world, rose the peak of his desire.

Again the rays of the sun reddened its crown like a glowing flower. Was it mocking him in his mortal distress? Was it luring him on to life or to death? But he must mount, always farther; he could not give up now within sight of his goal! Courage! Courage! He must conquer and win! But what were those white arms beckoning to him out of the morning mist?

What were those veils of transparent vapour waving to him from the rock above? Were they apparitions out of some fantastic dream, some hallucination of his tired brain?

Anyhow he would desperately follow them, perhaps they would help him in his distress; but the higher he climbed the farther did the beckoning figures always recede; each time he had thought to reach the height where they stood he saw them far away hovering above him on some steep boulder, which again he scaled only to be baffled anew.

It was an awful pursuit, the heavy child clinging around his neck, his open wounds dripping, leaving red traces wherever he pa.s.sed.

His shoes had been cut almost to shreds by the rugged rocks, so that his feet suffered an agony of pain.

A blind rage seized him against these spirits of the wilds who mocked his cruel plight; and yet, had he but known it, it was just their alluring aloofness that was helping him upon his final climb. His overwhelming longing to reach those ethereal beings with whom he hoped to find rest gave him the energy to clamber always farther, the intensity of his desire infusing almost superhuman force into his attenuated body.

Suddenly he stopped with a gasp, almost letting the child fall from his arms;--other visions were now before him floating amongst the clouds.

The indistinct apparitions had taken form, changing into white-winged angels all flying upwards, their long trailing garments mingling with the mist.

Ah! these would lead him to his last height! These celestial beings had been sent from heaven to help him in his bitterest need.

Looking down at the child in his arms, he saw that her face was deadly pale, her eyes were shut, the long lashes cast deep shadows on her sunken cheeks.

Indeed it was time to reach some shelter where he could lay her down.

Then raising his head a cry escaped his lips ... there close before him he espied the great peak which had always appeared so absolutely beyond his reach.

There it stood, enormous and majestic, an overpowering revelation rising out of the filmy clouds--clouds that were one ma.s.s of white-robed angels, their wings bearing them upwards, their arms extended in gestures of welcome towards this pilgrim of the heights!

Eric ran forward, all his remaining energy gathered together in one last supreme effort. The blood sang in his ears, his breath came in tormented gasps, his heart beat like a giant hammer, and wherever he pa.s.sed the hard stones bore marks of his dripping wounds.

With one arm he pressed his heavy burden against him, with the other he hoisted himself higher and higher, clambering with dogged persistence, ignoring both pain and danger, always onwards, his enraptured eyes fixed in an ecstasy of hope on the heavenly host that was showing him the way ... and now ... and now ... he was lying face downwards on the hard snow-covered rock, his arms outstretched over the motionless body of the little girl.

He had reached the top, he had not failed!... he had really won!

Long he lay in completest exhaustion unable to move, almost unable to think, or even to feel. Around him the mists rose and fell like a restless foam-covered sea!

Slowly he lifted his head, and what first met his gaze was the face of the child.

With a startled exclamation he took it in both his hands; but it rested there limp and inert with tightly shut eyes. Convulsed with fear he bent towards it, pressing his lips upon the silent mouth, covering the waxen face with eager caresses, chafing the frozen hands, the tiny bare feet, calling to it words of love and endearment, begging it to look up and speak.

But all in vain; no responsive smile came to the blanched lips, and when he let her slip from his arms the wee body fell back, a poor little heap, upon the ground.

Then Eric covered his face with his hands and sobbed as if his heart would break.

Thus did he remain completely overcome, in frightful distress. Oh, why--oh, why had he been unable to save her treasured life? Why, why was he alive while she was dead? Why had all his efforts been in vain? Why had he reached his goal only to be crushed by this bitter grief? O G.o.d!

O G.o.d! What was the use of such a thing?