Wildly glaring at him, Vendale faltered out the
broken words:
"It shall not be--the trust--of the dead--betrayed by me--reputed
parents--misinherited fortune--see to it!"
As his head dropped on his breast, and he stumbled on the brink of the
chasm as before, the thievish hands went once more, quick and busy, to
his breast. He made a convulsive attempt to cry "No!" desperately rolled
himself over into the gulf; and sank away from his enemy's touch, like a
phantom in a dreadful dream.
* * * * *
The mountain storm raged again, and passed again. The awful mountain-
voices died away, the moon rose, and the soft and silent snow fell.
Two men and two large dogs came out at the door of the Hospice. The men
looked carefully around them, and up at the sky. The dogs rolled in the
snow, and took it into their mouths, and cast it up with their paws.
One of the men said to the other: "We may venture now. We may find them
in one of the five Refuges." Each fastened on his back a basket; each
took in his hand a strong spiked pole; each girded under his arms a
looped end of a stout rope, so that they were tied together.
Suddenly the dogs desisted from their gambols in the snow, stood looking
down the ascent, put their noses up, put their noses down, became greatly
excited, and broke into a deep loud bay together.
The two men looked in the faces of the two dogs. The two dogs looked,
with at least equal intelligence, in the faces of the two men.
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