hem
through a mist of snow. There was nothing for it but to stand
steady--till that happened which must happen. So they stood steady,
without speech or movement, like men turned to stone.

It may have been a matter of minutes. To Lenox it seemed a matter of
years. Because, in that short breathing space, fear--overmastering
fear--gripped him as it never yet had done. A year or two ago, for all
his human love of life, he would have accepted a mountaineer's death
with something of the same pride and stoicism as a soldier accepts
death in battle. But now . . now . . life meant so infinitely more to
him, that every throbbing artery and nerve rebelled against the loss of
it. For it is happiness, more than conscience, that 'makes cowards of
us all.'

Nearer and louder grew the appalling sound. Then a great cloud of
snow-dust burst in their faces, half blinding them: and, with the roar
of an express train, the avalanche sped down the ravine; burying the
ice-slope they had just crossed; and obliterating their footsteps as
man's work is obliterated by the soundless avalanche of the years.

All five men let out their breath in an audible murmur.

"_Burra tamasha_,[2] Hazur," Yusuf Ali remarked gravely. "Never before
have I seen the like."

But for the moment Lenox had lost his voice. Ten minutes' delay in
starting, and they had been swept out of life, without a struggle or a
cry. It is this significance of trifles in determining large issues
that at times staggers faith and reason.

"The Sahib still goes forward?" the Pathan added presently, as one who
merely asks for orders: and the Sahib nodded.

But this was too much for the Kirghiz. Emboldened by terror, he flung
himself on the ground.

"I who speak am as dust beneath the feet of the Heaven-born. But
consider, Hazur, there will be many more such before the pass can be
reached."

"It is possible," Lenox answered unmoved. "It is also possible that,
like this one, they will keep out of our path. Make no more fool's
talk. Go back to the ponies."

The Kirghiz was not mistaken. There were 'many more such' during the
next few days. But Lenox was not mistaken either: for none of them
came their way. Only the muffled thunder of their descent broke the
stillness of a world whose mystery and grandeur surpassed anything
Lenox himself had ever seen.

For on the second night, a night without wind or cloud, they camped in
the heart of the great glacier: and