e left. Garratt Skinner followed without a
word. But he knew that when he had ascended Mont Blanc by the Brenva
route twenty-three years before, he had kept to the right along the rocks
to a point where that ice-wall was crevassed, and through that crevasse
had found his path. They passed quickly beneath an overhanging rib of ice
which jutted out from the wall, and reached the angle then formed at four
o'clock in the afternoon.

"Our last difficulty, Wallie," said Garratt Skinner, as he cut a
large step in which Hine might stand. "Once up that wall, our
troubles are over."

Walter Hine looked at the wall. It was not smooth ice, it was true;
blocks had broken loose from it, and had left it bulging out here,
there, and in places fissured. But it stood at an angle of 65 degrees.
It seemed impossible that any one should ascend it. He looked down the
slope up which they had climbed--it seemed equally impossible that any
one should return. Moreover, the sun was already in the West, and the
ice promontory under which they stood shut its warmth from them. Walter
Hine was in the shadow, and he shivered with cold as much as with fear.
For half an hour Pierre Delouvain tried desperately to work his way up
that ice wall, and failed.

"It is too late," he said. "We shall not get up to-night."

Garratt Skinner nodded his head.

"No, nor get down," he added, gravely. "I am sorry, Wallie. We must go
back and find a place where we can pass the night."

Walter Hine was in despair. He was tired, he was desperately cold, his
gloves were frozen, his fingers and his feet benumbed.

"Oh, let's stop here!" he cried.

"We can't," said Garratt Skinner, and he turned as he spoke and led the
way down quickly. There was need for hurry. Every now and then he stopped
to cut an intervening step, where those already cut were too far apart,
and at times to give Hine a hand while Delouvain let him down with the
help of the rope from behind.

Slowly they descended, and while they descended the sun disappeared, the
mists gathered about the precipices below, the thunder of the avalanches
was heard at rare intervals, the ice-cliffs above them glimmered faintly
and still more faintly. The dusk came. They descended in a ghostly
twilight. At times the mists would part, and below them infinite miles
away they saw the ice-fields of the Brenva glacier. The light was failing
altogether when Garratt Skinner turned to his left and began to traverse
the slo