He was a young man of about three- or four-and-twenty at the time.
His father had died, and he was living in poor lodgings in the south
of London, supporting himself and his mother by strenuous, ill-paid
work.
"I want you to come with me for a few days' holiday," I told him.
I had some difficulty in getting him to accept my help, for he was
very proud in his sensitive, apologetic way. But I succeeded
eventually, persuading him it would be good for his work.
Physically the journey must have cost him dear, for he could never
move his body without pain, but the changing landscapes and the
strange cities more than repaid him; and when one morning I woke him
early and he saw for the first time the distant mountains clothed in
dawn, there came a new light into his eyes.
We reached the hut late in the afternoon. I had made my
arrangements so that we should be there alone. Our needs were
simple, and in various wanderings I had learnt to be independent. I
did not tell him why I had brought him there, beyond the beauty and
stillness of the place. Purposely I left him much alone there,
making ever-lengthening walks my excuse, and though he was always
glad of my return I felt that the desire was growing upon him to be
there by himself.
One evening, having climbed farther than I had intended, I lost my
way.
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