“They say that on New Year’s eve, all the dead that have died in Davos (there must be a jolly lot of ’em when you come to think of it) process through the valley to the Waterfall. What their object is, of course, the story doesn’t mention – ghosts, as far as I can see, never have much object, except to make you sit up; but they set out anyhow, scores and scores of ’em.
“If it happens to be moonlight, you can see them slipping over the snow, making for the waterfall as fast as they can hoof it, but none of them look back – and if they were all your dearest friends you couldn’t catch a glimpse of their faces – unless, I suppose, you had the gumption to start off by sitting up at the waterfall and waiting for ’em – which nobody has, of course. The point of the story, if you can call it a point, is that the last man in the procession isn’t dead at all. He’s a sort of false spook of the living – taking his first turn in with them – because as sure as fate he dies before the next year’s out, and when the other chaps have reached the waterfall, he stops short and looks back toward Davos – that’s how he’s been spotted, and he’s always died all right before the end of the year. Rum tale, isn’t it?”
“How did you get hold of it?” Lionel asked curiously. “It’s not much in your line, is it?”
“Well – I don’t know,” said Winn, taking out his pipe and preparing to light it. “The last six months or so, I’ve thought a lot of funny things. I came up here prepared to die; that’s to say, I thought I’d got to, which is as far as you can prepare for most things, but I’m not going to die, as I told you yesterday, but what I didn’t mention to you then was that, on the whole, as it happens now, I’d jolly well rather.”
“You mean,” said Lionel, “that it’s got too thick between you and Estelle? I wish you’d tell me, old chap. I haven’t an idea how it stands, but I’ve been afraid ever since I stayed with you, that you’d made a bit of a mistake over your marriage?”
“As far as that goes,” said Winn, “I swallowed that down all right. It’s no use bothering about a thing that isn’t there. It’s what is that counts. It counts damnably, I can tell you that. Look here, have you ever had any ideas about love?”
“I can’t say that I have,” Lionel admitted cautiously. “Many. I dare say I should like it if it came; and I’ve had fancies for girls, of course, but nothing so far I couldn’t walk off, not what people call the real thing, I suppose. I’ve always liked women more than you have, and I don’t think you get let in so much if you honestly like ’em. I haven’t seen any one I particularly want to marry yet, if that’s what you mean?”
“That’s part of it,” agreed Winn. “I supposed you’d been like that. I shouldn’t wonder if what you say about liking ’em being safer, isn’t true. I never liked ’em. I’ve taken what I could get when I wanted it. I rather wish I hadn’t now, but I can’t say I was ever sorry before. Even – Estelle – well, I don’t want to be nasty about her – but it was only different, I can see that now, because I knew I couldn’t get what I wanted without marrying her – still – I somehow think I’d made a kind of a start that time – only I got pulled up too short. I dare say I quite deserved it. That’s no way of liking a woman. When you do really, you know all the rest’s been half twaddle and half greed. Your father and mother are all right – so are mine really, though they do blow each other’s heads off – still, there’s something there – you know what I mean?”
“Something indestructible and uniting – ” said Lionel quietly. “I’ve often wondered about it.”
“Well, I’ve never wondered about it,” said Winn, firmly, “and I’m not going to begin now. Still, I admit it’s there. What I’m getting at is that there’s something I want you to do for me. You’ll probably think I’m mad, but I can’t help that. It’ll work out all right in the end, if you’ll do it.”
“You can ask me anything you like,” said Lionel, quietly; “any damned thing. I don’t suppose I’ll refuse to do it.”
The water broke into a prolonged gurgle under their feet; it sounded uncannily like some derisive listener. There was nothing in sight at all – not even their shadows on the unlighted snows.
“Well – there’s a girl here,” Winn said in a low voice; “it’s not very easy to explain. I haven’t told her about Estelle; I meant to, but I couldn’t. I’m afraid you’ll think I haven’t played the game, but I haven’t made love to her; only I can’t stay any longer; I’ve got to clear out.”
Lionel nodded. “All right,” he said; “let’s go wherever you like; there are plenty of other snow places jollier than this.”
“That isn’t what I want,” said Winn. “I want you to stay with her. I want you to marry her eventually – d’ you see? It’s quite simple, really.”
“By Jove,” said Lionel, thoughtfully; “simple, d’ you call it? As simple as taking a header into the mid-Atlantic! And what good would it do you, my dear old chap, if I did? It wouldn’t be you that had got her?”
“I dare say not,” said Winn; “you don’t see my point. She’d be all right with you. What I want for the girl is for her to be taken care of. She hasn’t any people to speak of, and she’s up here now with a rotten, unlicked cub of a brother. I fancy she’s the kind of girl that would have a pretty hideous time with the wrong man. I’ve got to know she’s being looked after. D’ you see?”
“But why should she marry?” Lionel persisted. “Isn’t she all right as she is? What do you want to marry her off for?”
“There’ll be a man sooner or later,” Winn explained. “There always is, and she’s – well, I didn’t believe girls were innocent before. By God, when they are, it makes you sit up! I couldn’t run the risk of leaving her alone, and that’s flat! It’s like chucking matches to a child and turning your back on it.
“For after all, if a man cares about a girl the way I care about her, he does chuck her matches. When I go – some one decent ought to be there to take my place.”
“But there isn’t the slightest chance she’ll like me, even if I happened to like her,” Lionel protested. “Honestly, Winn, you haven’t thought the thing out properly. You can’t stick people about in each other’s places – they don’t fit.”
“They can be made to,” said Winn, inexorably, “if they’re the proper people. She’ll like you to start with, besides you read – authors. So does she – she’s awfully clever, she doesn’t think anything of Marie Corelli; and she likes a man. As to your taking to her – well, my dear chap, you haven’t seen her! I give you a week; I’ll hang about till then. You can tell me your decision at the end of it.”
“That’s another thing,” said Lionel. “Of course you only care for the girl, I see that, it’s quite natural, but if by any chance I did pull the thing off – what’s going to happen to you and me, afterwards? I’ve cared for that most, always.”
A Föhn wind had begun to blow up the valley – it brought with it a curious light that lay upon the snow like red dust. “I don’t say I shall like it,” Winn said after a pause. “I’m not out to like it. There isn’t anything in the whole damned job possible for me to like. But I’d a lot rather have it than any other way. I think that ought to show you what I think of you. You needn’t be afraid I’ll chuck you for seeing me through. I might keep away for a time, but I’d come back. She isn’t the kind of a woman that makes a difference between friends.”
“Oh, all right,” said Lionel after a pause, “I’ll go in for it – if I can.”
Winn got up and replaced his pipe carefully, shaking his ashes out on to the snow. “I’m sure I’m much obliged to you,” he said stiffly.
The wind ran up the valley with a sound like a flying train. Neither of them spoke while the gust lasted. It fell as suddenly as it came, and the valley shrank back into its pall of silence.
It was so solitary that it seemed to Lionel as if, at times, it might easily have no existence.