In the early February afternoon the valley lay before them singularly still and white. There were no fir-trees on the sides of the abrupt snow slopes, and it took Winn some time to rediscover a faint pathway half blotted out by recent snow.
A few minutes later the road behind them vanished, everything dropped away from them but the snow, and the low gray skies. A tiny wind slipped along the valley; it was strange not to see it, for it felt like the push of a Presence, in the breathless solitude. A long way off Lionel could hear a faint noise like the sound of some one choking.
It reminded him of the sound behind the green baize doors in the hotel. It was just such a sound, suppressed, faint, but quite audible, that he heard along the passages at night. He looked questioningly at Winn.
“That’s a waterfall,” said Winn; “most of it’s frozen up but it leaks through a little. There’s a story about this place – I didn’t mention it to you before, did I?”
Lionel shook his head. Winn was not in the habit of telling him stories about places. He had informed Lionel on one occasion some years ago, that he thought legends too fanciful, unless they were in the Bible, which was probably true, and none of our business. But Lionel had already wondered if this change in Winn wasn’t on the whole making him more fanciful.
“I dare say,” Winn began, “there’s not a word of truth in it, and it’s perfectly pointless besides; still it’s a queer place, this valley, and what’s particularly odd is, that though you can find it easily enough sometimes, there are days when I’m blessed if it’s there at all! Anyhow I’ve gone wrong times out of number when I’ve looked for it, and you know I don’t usually go wrong about finding places. This is the middle one of three valleys, count ’em backwards or forwards, whichever way you like – but I give you my word, after you’ve passed the first, and take the second turn, you’ll find yourself in the third valley – or take it the other way, you’ll be in the first. It’s made me jumpy before now, looking for it. However, that hasn’t anything to do with the story, such as it is.
“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?”