The Argosy — page 322: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“ Glittering Gold.” 301 about a hundred yards away, he spies one solitary block of fallen rock, which may perhaps afford a moment’s breathing space if he can eet under its lee. But when at last he had fought his way across the shifting shingle of broken slate which separated him from the boulder, Mr. Etheridge started back in dismay. ‘Two human forms—women’s forms—lay huddled together at its base, crushed to the earth by mingled terror and fatigue. He struggled to their side, and in another minute had recognised his companions in that sunny drive to Grindelwald a fortnight before. “Get up at once,” he shouted with the whole force of his lungs. ““You must not stay here a minute longer. We must get to the inn at the end of the pass somehow!” His voice was all but lost in the roar overhead, but the terrified girls understood his gestures and obeyed him instinctively. ‘Together ¢he three breasted the hurricane, which struck them with almost the force of an actual wave. It was a desperate demand on their failing strength, but now that they were no longer alone the girls showed themselves both brave and patient, and made the most of their slender powers. An hour later the three travellers, exhausted almost to the point of unconsciousness, staggered into the kitchen of the little wooden inn standing on the brink of that gigantic wall of rock which frowns down upon Leukerbad. Three days from that time the rain is still falling heavily and steadily. For forty-eight hours the tempest had raged almost con- tinuously, and still the rain keeps the travellers close prisoners in the tiny Wildstrubel Inn, impatient enough, no doubt, yet thankful for even its scanty accommodation as they gaze at the desolate scene without. ‘Surely it cannot rain much longer in this unconscionable fashion, Mr. Etheridge? We must have had whole Rhones-full of water in the last three days! Don’t you think we really shall get down to Leukerbad to-morrow ?” Nellie Branscombe and the gentleman she addresses sit trifling over an improvised draught-board in the little sanded parlour, while her sister, stationed by the window, is engaged on a sketch of the two players. “T hope so, Miss Nellie,” answers Robert cautiously; ‘‘ but it is quite impossible to make any engagements on behalf of such weather as this.” “To you really hope it?” The vibrant, musical voice is lowered almost to a whisper, and the bright eyes are lifted for a momentary but speaking glance. A slight flush rises to Robert’s face as he answers. “Ves, for your sake. You will be glad to return to the comforts of civilization again.” COMICooOolKS.EO© a im