“Would you mind reading me a Psalm,” came, after a great struggle for breath. “It was so nice to know Babie was saying her Psalms at night, and thinking of us.” So the evening wore away and night came on, and John, after full six-and-twenty hours’ wakeful exertion and anxiety, began to grow sleepy, and dozed even as he held his cousin whenever the cough did not shake the poor little fellow. At last, with Armine’s consent, or rather, at his entreaty, Mr. Graham, though knowing himself a bad substitute, took him from the arms of the outwearied lad, who, in five minutes more, was lying, dressed as he was, in the soundest of dreamless slumbers. When he awoke, the sun was up, an almost midsummer sun, streaming on the fast-melting snow with a dazzling brilliancy. Armine was panting under the same deadly oppression on his pillows, and Mother Carey was standing by him, talking to Mr. Graham about despatching a messenger to Leukerbad in search of one of the doctors, who were sure to be found at the baths. How haggard her face looked, and Armine gasped out-- “Mother, your hair.” The snow had been there; the crisp black waves on her brow were quite white. Jock had fallen into a sort of doze from exhaustion, but moaning all the time. She could call him no better, and Armine’s sunken face told that he was worse. John went in search of more hot water, and on the way heard voices which made him call Mr. Graham, who knew more of the vernacular German patois than himself, to understand it. He thought he had caught something about English, and a doctor at Kandersteg. It was true. A guide belonging to the other side of the pass, who had been weather-bound at Kandersteg, had just come up with tidings that an English party were there, who had meant to cross the Gemmi but had given it up, finding it too early in the season for the kranklicher Milord who was accompanied by his doctor. “An English doctor! Oh!” cried John, “there’s some good in that. Some one must take a note down to him at once.” But after some guttural conversation of which he understood only a word or two, Mr. Graham said-- “They declare it is of no use. The carriage was ordered at nine. It is past seven now.” “But it need not take two hours to go that distance downhill, the lazy blackguards!” exclaimed John. “In the present state of the path, they say that it will,” said Mr. Graham. “In fact, I suspect a little unwillingness to deprive their countrymen of the job.” “I’ll go,” said John, “then there will be no loss of time about writing. You’ll look after Armine, sir, and tell my aunt.” “Certainly, my boy; but you’ll find it a stiffish pull.” “I came in second for the mile race last summer at Eton,” said Johnny. “I’m not in training now; but if a will can do it--”