They started on their walk provided with alpenstocks, for just above them was the snow-line, and they could not go far without encountering ice also. The Hotel du Glacier stood thousands of feet above the sea-level, and was a favorite resort with those who enjoyed the sublimity of mountain scenery.

Though Sharpley was by no means the companion he would have best liked, Frank was in high spirits, as he realized that he was really four thousand miles from home, surrounded by the famous mountains of which he had so often read.

"Have you ever been up this mountain before, Colonel Sharpley?" asked Frank.

"Not up this mountain. I have ascended others, however. I once crossed over Mount Cenis to Italy."

"How? Did you walk?"

"No. I went in a diligence."

"It must have been fine. Shall we go into Italy?"

"Perhaps so."

"I should like it very much. I have read so much about Italy."

"How I wish Ben Cameron were here!" said Frank, after a pause.

He did not so much mean to say this to Sharpley, but the thought entered his mind, and he unconsciously uttered it aloud.

"Who is Ben Cameron?"

"He is a friend of mine at home. We were a great deal together."

"Was he the boy that was with you when I first met you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Humph! I have no desire for his company," thought Sharpley.

"Have you a glass with you, Colonel Sharpley?" asked Frank.

"Yes. Would you like to use it?"

"If you please."

It was a small spy-glass, not powerful, but serviceable. Frank adjusted it to his eye, and looked earnestly in a certain direction.

"What do you see?" asked his companion.

"Wait a minute. I am not certain. Yes, it is they."

"Who?" demanded Sharpley, impatiently.

"The Abercrombies. They are higher up than we, over there, but not very much out of our way. Shall we join them?" asked Frank, hopefully.

"Where are they? Let me see," said Sharpley, seizing the glass.

He thought Frank might be mistaken, but a glance through the glass satisfied him that he was right. There was Mr. Abercrombie, toiling up a steep ascent, with his son following, the latter assisted by the guide.

"Do you see them?"

"Yes."

"Don't you think we can overtake them?"

"Perhaps we might, but I for one don't intend to try."

Frank looked at him inquiringly.

"Why not?"

"I thought you heard me decline to join them at the hotel. I have no fancy for company to-day."

"Excuse me," said Frank, politely. "I might have remembered it."

"You can join them to-morrow if you feel like it," said Sharpley, emphasizing the last clause.

Frank noticed the emphasis, and wondered at it a little. It seemed to imply that he might not choose to do it, and that did not seem very likely. However, possibly the emphasis was unconscious, and his mind did not dwell upon it.

They were now walking along a ledge scarcely more than six feet wide, terminating in a sheer precipice.

"I wonder if accidents often happen here?" suggested Frank.

"Such as what?" sharply interrogated his companion.

"I mean such as slipping over these cliffs."

"Not often, I presume," said Sharpley. "No one who exercises common prudence need fear slipping."

His heart began to beat quicker, for he saw that the moment was approaching in which his fearful work was to be done.

"The dangers of the Alps are very greatly exaggerated," he said, indifferently.

"It looks dangerous," said Frank.

"Yes, I presume so. Suppose we approach the edge cautiously and look down."

There is a fatal fascination about danger. Just as the moth hovers persistently about the flame, to which in the end he falls a victim, so we are disposed to draw near dangers at which we shudder. We like to see it for ourselves, and, shuddering, to say: "Suppose I should fall in."

Our young hero was of a daring disposition. He had never been timid or nervous, inheriting his father's physical traits, not his mother's. So Sharpley's proposal struck him favorably, being an appeal to his courage.

"I should like to look over," he said.

As he spoke he drew near the fatal brink, not observing that his companion was not at his side, but just behind him.

"Now for it!" thought Sharpley, his breath coming thick and fast.

One push from behind, and Frank was over the ledge, falling—falling—falling.

There was one scream of terror, and Sharpley found himself alone upon the cliff.