There would be no good in prolonging the story of this wrestle; there
was a certain sameness in every phase, though the dangers seemed to
change with such protean swiftness. For three days it lasted, and on the
third day Tom Lennard, Ferrier, the patients, and the crew, were far
more interested in the steward's efforts to boil coffee than they were
in the arrowy flight of the snow-masses or the menace of towering seas.
Ferrier attended his men, and varied that employment by chatting with
Lennard, who was now able to sit up. Tom was much shaken and very
solemn; he did not like talking of his late ordeal.
"Lewis, my dear friend, I have looked on the Eternal Majesty, and now
death has no more terror for me. He will hide me in the shadow of His
wings. I have seen what was known to them of old time; I knew when the
gun seemed to go off inside my head, and I could feel nothing more, I
knew that I should live: and that was the last light I saw in this world
until you saved me--God bless you! We won't ever speak of it again."
Thus spoke Tom, with a fluency and correctness of diction which
surprised himself. And he has never dilated on his mishap throughout his
life so far.
It is not uncommon--that same awe-stricken reticence. This writer knows
a man, a great scholar, a specimen of the best aristocratic class, a man
fitted to charm both men and women. Long ago, he and two others slid two
thousand feet down an Alpine slope.
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