Saxe, in his utter freedom
from care, ate with an appetite which astounded himself, as he thought
of the despair and misery of a short time before.

Then as they talked, Melchior smiled as he listened to the boy's
remarks; for they were confused, and he was quite in ignorance of how
far he was from the site of the snow slip. To him the perils of that
day had occurred close by, and he did not realise the fact that the
guide had carried him for hours upon his back.

"It does not matter," Melchior said to himself. "Why should I tell him?
Some day he may find out. If I tell him now, he will think I am
seeking for a reward."

The meal, though, was not altogether pleasant to Saxe, who found that
every time he raised his eyes Pierre was staring at him in the peculiar
apathetic way which had irritated him so before. No matter how he
changed his position, no matter what he did, the feeling was strong upon
him that old Andregg's servant was watching him; and the stronger this
idea grew upon him the more he felt compelled to turn and look back,
just as if the eyes of the sour-looking fellow had some peculiar
fascination which he could not resist.

But even this came to an end; for, refreshed by the food, and after
submitting to an examination by Melchior, who wished to make sure that
his feet were not frozen in the least, a peculiar sensation of drowsy
warmth came over the boy so strongly, that one minute he was trying to
paint his sufferings on the snow when he felt that he had lost Dale, the
next he was lying back wrapped in a blanket, breathing hard and sleeping
as soundly in that dwarf pine-wood on the ledge of the huge mountain as
if he had been back in London, with policemen regularly parading the
street outside.

It was a heavy, dreamless sleep, that lasted till long after sunrise,
when he opened his eyes to find that he was the last to wake up, that
the fire was burning merrily, the sun shining, and nature looking more
beautiful than ever. They were evidently waiting for him to wake and
join them, for the rough meal was spread and the party talking quietly--
all but Pierre, who lay on the ground upon his chest, resting his chin
in his hands, and staring hard in one direction with his heavy,
glowering eyes.

That direction was at Saxe, who turned away angrily as once more he
found himself the object of the man's unpleasant stare.

"I can't make a fuss about it and complain," he said to himself: "it
would seem