This gentleman--"
"--Has," said Vendale, readily taking him up with a smile, "very pressing
occasion to get across. Must cross."
"You hear?--has very pressing occasion to get across, must cross. We
want no advice and no help. I am mountain-born, and act as Guide. Do
not worry us by talking about it, but let us have supper, and wine, and
bed."
All through the intense cold of the night, the same awful stillness.
Again at sunrise, no sunny tinge to gild or redden the snow. The same
interminable waste of deathly white; the same immovable air; the same
monotonous gloom in the sky.
"Travellers!" a friendly voice called to them from the door, after they
were afoot, knapsack on back and staff in hand, as yesterday; "recollect!
There are five places of shelter, near together, on the dangerous road
before you; and there is the wooden cross, and there is the next Hospice.
Do not stray from the track. If the _Tourmente_ comes on, take shelter
instantly!"
"The trade of these poor devils!" said Obenreizer to his friend, with a
contemptuous backward wave of his hand towards the voice. "How they
stick to their trade! You Englishmen say we Swiss are mercenary. Truly,
it does look like it."
They had divided between the two knapsacks such refreshments as they had
been able to obtain that morning, and as they deemed it prudent to take.
Obenreizer carried the wine as his share of the burden; Vendale, the
bread and meat and cheese, and the flask of brandy.
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