"Oh, I am afraid," she repeated; and her voice appealed piteously for sympathy and a little kindness.
In Chayne's mind there was suddenly painted a picture of the ice-slope on the Aiguille d'Argentiere.

A girl had moved from step to step, across that slope, looking down its steep glittering incline without a tremor.
It was the same girl who now leaned to him and with shaking lips and eyes tortured with fear cried, "I am afraid." By his recollection of that day upon the heights Chayne measured the greatness of her present trouble.
"Why, Sylvia?
Why are you afraid ?" For answer she looked toward the open window.

Chayne followed her glance and this was what he saw: The level stretch of emerald lawn, the stream running through it and catching in its brown water the red light of the evening sun, the great beech trees casting their broad shadows, the high garden walls with the dusky red of their bricks glowing amongst fruit trees, and within that enclosure pacing up and down, in and out among the shadows of the trees, Garratt Skinner and Walter Hine.

Yet that sight she must needs have seen before.

Why should it terrify her beyond reason now?
"Do you see ?" Sylvia said in a low troubled voice.