If breath would but hold out! She was gaining upon Maurice; and she had healthy lungs; but this was severe work. Her heart was beating like a drum; and as she struggled on, she panted painfully. A call now might stop him; but no voice was left. She could only gasp. Just when she had reached the stage, at which giving in had become inevitable, he stopped short, and turned. She waved her handkerchief violently. He waved his, and started at a run, descending by the steeper path. Rapid as were his movements, she was recovering herself before he arrived. "You want me—!" with surprise, which changed into concern, as he saw her flushed and breathless state. "I promised—to catch you—if I could!" She laughed at herself for having still to gasp between the words. "I'm—all right. It's only—" and she hurriedly explained what was wrong. "Yes—they are my friends. I had no idea they were coming here. Thanks for calling me. You have had hard work." "Oh, I didn't mind—only the stones were so horrid, sliding away under my feet. I thought I should never get up with you." "You didn't attempt the short cut!" "I fancied it would save time. Did it?" "Doubtful. But you must be a good climber to do it at all." She was delighted, but said: "Ought we not to be off?" "Are you rested enough?" "I'm all right. And that poor girl does so want you." "Try this way." He turned to a different path, shorter and steeper than that by which they had come. It meant a descent which Doris could not have tackled alone, with nailless shoes. He went first; and two or three times his hand caught hers; yet most of it she did unaided; and again he spoke in praise of her sure-footedness. "Climbing always seems to come naturally to me," she said. "If only, only, some day I could go up a real mountain! I want that desperately— I can't tell you how much! And I don't see the very least chance of such a thing. Oh dear,—I wish with all my heart there were." "Perhaps something might be arranged while you are here. We must see. I'll think about it." Her deep-set eyes sent him a swift grateful glance, which stirred his blood. She was a pretty girl. "Oh, it would be most frightfully nice!" was all she said. "I'll see!" he repeated. Then he spoke of these friends of his; the husband a college chum, "an awfully decent chap,"—the young wife, barely eighteen, and married three months earlier, whom he had known for years. Doris would have liked to go with him to the châlet, and to see if she might be of use there. But she felt that the neglected Mrs. Brutt claimed first attention; and he promised to let her know if help were needed. On reaching Mrs. Brutt's room, she was greeted with a gale which took her breath away, almost as the steep hillside had done. By this time she had learnt to know the agreeable widow as a confirmed grumbler; but till the present hour she had not seen her in a passion. It was not a pleasant sight.