Magnum Bonum; Or, Mother Carey's BroodYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
General
Magnum Bonum; Or, Mother Carey's Brood
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Domestic fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Religious fiction
Armine scrambled round the rock over which he had fallen, a loose stone
having turned with him. He had pulled himself up, but even with an arm
round Armine’s neck, he could not have walked a step on even ground,
far less on these rough debris, which were painful walking even for the
lightest, most springy tread.
“You must get to the inn and bring help,” he said, sinking down with a
sigh.
“I suppose there’s nothing else to be done,” said Armine, unwillingly.
“You’ll have a terrible time to wait, unless I meet some one first. I’ll
be as quick as I can.”
“Not too quick till you get off this place,” said Jock, “or you’ll be
down too, and here, help me off with this boot first.”
This was not done quickly or easily. Jock was almost sick with the pain
of the effort, and the bruise looked serious. Armine tried to make him
comfortable, and set out, as he thought, in the right direction, but he
had hardly gone twenty steps before he came to a sudden standstill with
an emphatic “I say!” then came back repeating “I say, Jock, we are close
upon the glacier; I was as near as possible going down into an awful
blue crack!”
“That’s why it’s getting so cold,” said Jock. “Here, Chick, come and
warm me. Well, Armie, why ain’t you off?”
“Yes,” said Armine, with a quiver in his voice, “if I keep down by the
side of the glacier, I suppose I must come to the Daubensee in time.”
“What! Have we lost the way?” said Jock, beginning to look alarmed.
“There’s no doubt of that,” said Armine, “and what’s worse, that fog
is coming up; but I’ve got my little compass here, and if I keep to the
south-west, and down, I must strike the lake somewhere. Goodbye, Jock.”
He looked white and braced up for the effort. Jock caught hold of him.
“Don’t leave me, Armie,” he said; “you can’t--you’ll fall into one of
those crevasses.”
“You’d better let me go before the fog gets worse,” said Armine.
“I say you can’t; it’s not fit for a little chap like you. If you fell
it would be ever so much worse for us both.”
“I know! But it is the less risk,” said Armine, gravely.
“I tell you, Armie, I can’t have you go. Mother will send out for us,
and we can make no end of a row together. There’s a much better chance
that way than alone. Don’t go, I say--”
“I was only looking out beyond the rock. I don’t think it would be
possible to get on now. I can’t see even the ridge of stones we climbed
over.”
“I wish it was I,” said Jock, “I’ll be bound I could manage it!” Then
impatiently--“Something must be done, you know, Armie. We can’t stay
here all night.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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