Festing was glad to sit down when he reached the bottom of a chasm that divided the summits of two towering fells. He had crossed the higher of the two without much trouble except for a laborious scramble over large, rough stones, but the ascent of the other threatened to be difficult. It rose in front, a wall of splintered crag, seamed by deep gullies, for the strata was tilted up nearly perpendicular. All the gullies were climbed by expert mountaineers, but this needed a party and a rope, and the other way, round the shoulder of the great rock, was almost as hard. Festing knew the easiest plan was to descend a neighboring hollow, from which he would find a steep path to the top.

Lighting his pipe, he glanced at his watch. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and having been on his feet since breakfast, he felt tired. The nails he had had driven into his light American boots hurt his feet, and the boots were much the worse for the last few days' wear. Muriel had carefully planned the trip, and then delayed his start by a week because she wanted to take him to a tennis party. Since he could not play tennis much, Festing did not see why she had done so, but agreed when she insisted.

So far, he had followed her instructions and admitted that she had directed him well, because it was hard to imagine there was anything in England finer than the country he had seen. The mountains had not the majestic grandeur of the British Columbian ranges, but they were wild enough, and pierced by dales steeped in sylvan beauty. The chasm in which he now rested had an impressive ruggedness.

Blinks of sunshine touched the lower face of the crag, and in their track the dark rock glittered with a steely luster, but trails of mist rolled among the crannies above. Below, a precipitous slope of small stones that the dalesmen call a scree ran down to a hollow strewn with broken rocks, and across this he could distinguish the blurred flat top of another height. The mountain dropped to a dale that looked profoundly deep, although he could not see its bottom.

The light was puzzling. For the most part, the sky was clear and the gleams of sun were hot, but heavy, black clouds drifted about, and a thick gray haze obscured the lower ground. Rain and mist would be dangerous obstacles, but Festing understood that he could reach the dale in about two hours' steady walking. Muriel had told him where to stop; indeed, she had been rather particular about this, and had recommended him to spend two days in the neighborhood. Luckily, there would be no crags to climb if he kept the path across the summit, for he had found it easier to reach the top of the hills than get down by a different line.

A rattle of stones made him look up, and he saw two girls silhouetted in a flash of sunshine against the face of the crag. They carried bulging rucksacks and were coming down towards him, picking their way among the tumbled rocks. He could not see the face of the first, but noticed her light poise and graceful movements as she sprang from stone to stone. The other followed cautiously and Festing thought she limped, but when the first stopped to wait for her and lifted her head he felt a curious thrill. It was Helen Dalton.

He sat still, knowing his gray clothes would be hard to distinguish among the stones, and wondering what to do. He did not want to force his society upon the girl just yet, but would be disappointed if she passed. She came on, and when her eyes rested on him he got up. A flush of embarrassment colored her face, but she stopped and greeted him with a smile.

“Mr. Festing! How did you get here?”

“I came over the Pike,” said Festing. “I'm going to the dale.”

“So are we,” said Helen, who presented him to her companion.

Festing remarked that they wore jackets that had a tanned look, unusually short skirts, and thick nailed boots. Then he thought Helen's eyes twinkled.

“You would not have expected to find me engaged in anything so strenuous as this?”

“It is rather strenuous,” Miss Jardine broke in. “You can stand if you like; I'm going to sit down.”

They found a flat stone, and when Festing leaned against another Helen resumed: “We meant to try the Stairs, but have had a hard day and Alison is lame.”

“I hurt my foot,” Miss Jardine explained. “Besides, I'm from the level Midlands and we have been walking since breakfast. That doesn't matter to Helen; she is never tired.”

Festing thought Helen looked remarkably fresh. Exertion and the mountain air had brought a fine color to her face, her eyes were bright, and there was a hint of vigor in her resting pose. Moreover, he had studied the Stairs, which led behind the shoulder of the crag to the summit. One could get up, if one was thin enough to squeeze through a gap between two rocks, but nerve and agility would be required.

“But you must climb pretty well, if you meant to get up the Stairs,” he said.

“I know the Carnarvon range, but only go there now and then, and one needs some training to keep pace with people born among the fells who walk like mountain goats.”

Had she said a mountain deer, Festing would have approved, for he had noted Helen's easy balance and fearless grace as she crossed the ragged blocks of stone. Then a rumble of distant thunder rolled among the crags and Miss Jardine resumed: “We ought to fix upon the best way down.”

“The best is a rather elastic term,” Helen rejoined. “The easiest would be to go back by the way we came.”

“It's much too far.”

“The shortest is up the crag by the Stairs or the gully on the other side. The regular track takes us down near the bottom of the next dale, and then back over the top.”

“That's unthinkable,” Miss Jardine declared.

“Well,” said Helen thoughtfully, “there's a short line down the scree and across the shoulder of the fell below, but it's steep and rough. There are some small crags, too, but they're not much of an obstacle when they're dry.”

They set off and Festing noticed Helen's confidence on the scree. The descent was safe, but looked daunting, because their figures made a sharp angle with the gravel slope, and now and then a mass of dislodged stones rushed down hill. Sometimes the girl allowed herself to slide, sometimes she ran a few yards and sprang, but she did not stumble or lose her balance. Miss Jardine was cautious, and Festing kept near her, carrying her sack.

At the bottom they came to a wide belt of massive stones, fallen from the heights above, and their progress was slow. One had to measure the gaps between the blocks and step carefully across, while the stones were ragged and had sharp corners. Festing was unable to look up and followed Helen, but after a time Miss Jardine stopped, and he saw that the crags were smothered in leaden cloud and all the sky was dark.

“I must have a few minutes' rest,” the tired girl declared.

As they sat down on the edge of a ponderous slab there was a crash of thunder that rolled from rock to rock, and a few big drops fell. Then as the echoes died away the hillside was hidden by a curtain of driving rain. One end of the slab was tilted and they crept into the hollow underneath.

“It will be awkward if this goes on,” Miss Jardine remarked.

“These thunderstorms seldom last,” said Helen. “I expect we have seen the worst, and we must start again as soon as we can see.”

Festing thought she was anxious to get down, but Miss Jardine grumbled about the rain, and then turned to him.

“It was a relief to give you my sack, and I was glad to see it didn't bother you. I suppose you are used to these mountains.”

“No,” said Festing. “This is the first time I've climbed a hill for amusement.”

“But you are a climber. You have balance, trust your feet and not your hands, and know how to step on a loose stone.”

Festing laughed. “I used to do something of the kind as a matter of business. You see, I helped mark out the line for a new railroad in British Columbia, and rocks are plentiful in that country.”

“It must be a wonderful place,” said Helen. “I have a photograph of the gorge at the foot of the glacier, where the line went through. You had stern work when you laid the rails in winter.”

Festing looked at her in surprise, for he had worked to the edge of exhaustion and run many risks at the spot, but while he wondered how she knew Helen got up.

“I think the rain is stopping and we can start,” she said.

There was not much rain, but thick mist rolled across the top of the hill they were now level with, and everything below was blotted out. Leaving the stones, they crossed a belt of boggy grass where their feet sank, but Festing felt it a relief to have done with the rocks. The narrow tableland they were crossing was comfortingly flat, and he looked forward to descending a long grassy slope. When they reached the edge, however, he got a rude disappointment, for the mist rolled up in waves with intervals between, and when a white cloud passed a gray light shone down into the gulf at his feet.

In the foreground there was a steep slope where rock ledges broke through the wet turf, and in one place a chasm cleft the hill. He could not see the bottom, for it was filled with mist, but the height of the rock wall hinted at its depth. A transverse ravine ran into the chasm, and he could hear the roar of a waterfall. Then the mist rolled up in a white smother and blotted everything out.

“We cross the beck,” said Helen. “Then we go nearly straight down, keeping this side of the big ghyll.”

“As far away as possible, I hope. I don't like its look,” Miss Jardine remarked.

Festing agreed with her. So far as he could see, the descent looked forbidding, but there was no sign of the sky's clearing, and it was obvious that they must get down. The thunder had gone, but the mist brought a curious, searching damp, and a cold wind had begun to blow. He was glad to think Helen knew the way.

She took them down a steep pitch where small rocky ledges dropped nearly vertical among patches of rotten turf and it was needful to get a good grip with one's hands as well as with one's feet. Festing helped Miss Jardine when he could, but he had an unpleasant feeling that a rash step might take him over the edge of a precipice. Sometimes he could see Helen in front, and sometimes, for a few moments, her figure was lost in the mist. He was glad to note that she was apparently going down with confidence.

After a time the slope got easier and she stopped, lifting her hand. Festing found her looking into a ravine through which water flowed. It was not very deep, but its sides were perpendicular. Seeing that Miss Jardine was some distance behind, she looked at Festing with a quiet smile.

“There is a place where one can cross without much trouble, but I don't know whether to go up or down.”

Festing felt his heart beat. It looked as if she had taken him into her confidence and asked his help.

“Not down, I think. That would take us to the big ghyll. Let's try up, and cross at the first practicable spot.”

Helen made a sign of agreement, and when Miss Jardine joined them they turned back along the edge of the ravine. By and by Helen stopped where patches of wet soil checkered the steep rock and a mountain-ash offered a hold. Almost immediately below the spot, the stream plunged over a ledge and vanished into the mist.

Festing looked at Helen. The descent would be awkward, if not dangerous, but he could trust her judgment. It was the first time he had allowed a woman to give him a lead in a difficulty, and he admitted that he would not have done so had his guide been anybody else.

“I think we can get across, and I don't want to go too far up,” she said. “If you don't mind helping Alison—”

“I'll throw the sacks across first,” Festing replied.

He swung them round by the straps and let them go, and when the last splashed into a boggy patch on the other side Miss Jardine laughed.

“I'm selfishly glad that one is yours. If Helen's had fallen a foot short, it would have gone over the fall, but I expect she had a reason for taking the risk. Where our clothes have gone we must follow.”

Helen seized a tuft of heather, and sliding down, reached a narrow shelf four or five feet below. Then a small mountain-ash gave her a fresh hold and she dropped to the top of a projecting stone. Below this there was another shelf and some boggy grass, after which a bank of earth dropped nearly straight to the stream.

“How we shall get down the last pitch isn't very obvious,” Miss Jardine remarked. “I suppose we will see when we arrive. It isn't my resolution that gives way, but my foot. You might go first.”

Festing dropped on to the first shelf, and she came down into his arms. The shock nearly flung him off, but he steadied her with an effort and seized the stem of the small tree.

“Looks like a tight-wire trick,” he said, glancing at the stone. “However, if we miss it, there's another ledge below.”

He reached the stone, and balancing on it with one foot, kicked a hole in the spongy turf. Finding this would support him he held out his hand.

“Now. As lightly as you can!”

The girl came down, struck the stone with her foot, and slipped, but Festing had time to clutch her first. He could not hold her back, but he could steady her, and for a moment felt his muscles crack and the peat tear out from the hole in the bank. Then his hands slipped and he fell, gasping and red in face, upon the shelf beside the girl.

“Thank you; you did that rather well,” she said. “It looks as if I were heavier than you thought.”

While he had been occupied Festing imagined he had heard a splash, and now looking down saw Helen standing on a boulder in the stream. She gave him an approving nod before she sprang to the next stone, and he felt a thrill of pleasure. She knew his task was difficult and was satisfied with him.

When they came to the scar where the floods had torn away the bank he hesitated. It was some distance to the water, and there was no hold upon the wall of soil, which was studded with small round stones.

“Helen slid,” his companion remarked. “I imagine she chose her time; the sitting glissade isn't elegant. But if you'll go first and wait—”

Festing leaned back with his shoulders against the bank and pushed off. He alighted in the water, and Miss Jardine, coming down, kicked his arm. He saved her from a plunge into the stream, but thought she looked something the worse for wear as they made their way from stone to stone. The other bank was easier, and for a time they had not much trouble in going down hill, but the mist was very thick, and presently the steep slope broke off close in front. Helen stopped and beckoned Festing.

Looking down, he saw the wet face of a crag drop into the rolling vapor. For eight or nine feet it was perpendicular, and afterwards ran down at a very steep slant, but immediately below there was a gully with a foot or two of level gravel at its top.

“This is not the regular track,” Helen said. “However, I think I know the gully.”

Festing pondered. The rock looked daunting, but one might get down to the patch of gravel. The trouble was that one could not see what lay below, and it might be difficult to climb back, if this was needful.

“I could get as far as the edge yonder,” he suggested.

“No,” said Helen. “You don't know the gully, and if I'm mistaken about it, you could help me up.”

“That's true. Still I'd sooner go.”

Helen shook her head, and although she did not speak, he felt there was something delightful in her consulting him. They had come to know each other on the misty hillside in a way that would not have been possible in conventional surroundings. He had seen a possibility of the girl, so to speak, shutting him out in self-defense because he had had some part in her humiliation, but he thought that risk had gone.

“Well,” he resumed, “what do you propose?”

“I'm going to see if this is the place I think. You can steady me.”

Festing lay down with his head over the edge and found a grip for his toes and knees. There were a few cracks in the rock and Helen had got half way down before she took his hands. He felt the strain and braced himself, determined that he would be pulled over before he let her fall.

“Loose me now,” she said.

“Have you got a safe hold for your foot?” Festing gasped.

“I think I have. Let go.”

“Make sure first,” he answered with a sobbing breath.

She looked up into his set face, and although the strain was heavy he thrilled as he saw her smile. The smile indicated courage and trust.

“I'm quite safe,” she said, and he let her go.

She leaned cautiously over the next edge, but after a moment or two turned and waved her hand.

“This is the way I thought. Send Alison down.”

Miss Jardine descended with some help from both, and Festing dropped safely on the gravel. He leaned against the rock to get his breath, and Helen turned to him with a twinkle.

“You doubted my nerve once. I suppose that was why you didn't let go.”

“I'm sometimes dull,” said Festing. “Just now, however, I wanted to make certain I could help you back.”

Helen laughed. “Well, I dare say you could have lifted me, but it would have been simpler to lower me your coat.”

They went down the gully, where jambed stones made rude steps, and reaching the bottom found a belt of grass that led them to the head of a dale. The mist was thinner, and presently a few scattered houses appeared across the fields. The path they followed forked, and Helen stopped at the turning.

“The hotel is yonder to the right,” she said. “We are going to the hall, where they sometimes take people in.”

Festing remembered that Muriel had indicated the hall, which he understood was a well-built farm, as his stopping place. He wanted to go there, but thought there was some risk of its looking as if he meant to force his society on the girls. He took the path Helen indicated, and when he had gone some distance, stopped, hesitated, and then went on.

The girls noted this and Miss Jardine said: “I suppose he remembered that he has my sack, or else his heart failed him.”

Helen looked at her in surprise. “Did you forget?”

“I did not,” Miss Jardine admitted. “I thought I wouldn't spoil the plot. It looked as if he wanted an excuse for meeting us again, but I think I wronged him. That sudden stop was genuine.”

“The sack is yours,” said Helen dryly. “But you will need the things inside.”

“I imagine I will get them before long, although it doesn't seem to have struck him that my clothes are damp. It's rather significant that he went on when he could have run across the field and caught us up. Have you known him long?”

“I met him once,” said Helen with an impatient frown.

“Rather a good type,” Miss Jardine remarked. “I think I should like Canadians, if they're all like that.”

“He isn't a Canadian.”

“Then he hasn't been in England for some time, and so far as my knowledge goes, men like variety. Of course, to some extent, he saw us under a disadvantage. Mountaineering clothes are comfortable, but one can't say much more.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Helen rejoined and went on across the field.