id the porter.

"And watch the _signorina's_ feet."

"Yes, I'll take care."

Barth was peering fixedly into the chasm. To Helen's fancy it was
bottomless, though in reality it was not more than forty feet deep,
and the two walls fell away from each other at a practicable angle. In
normal summer weather, a small crevasse always formed there owing to
the glacier flowing over a transverse ridge of rock beneath. To-day
the impact of many thousands of tons of debris had disrupted the ice
to an unusual extent. Having decided on the best line, the leading
guide stepped over into space. Helen heard his ax ringing as he
fashioned secure foothold down the steep ledge he had selected. He was
quite trustworthy in such work.

Stampa, who had a thought for none save Helen, gave her a reassuring
word. "Barth will find a way, _fraeulein_," he said. "And Herr Spencer
knows how you should cross your feet and carry your ax, while Karl
will see to your foothold. Remember too that you will be at the bottom
before I begin the descent, so no harm can come to you. Try and stand
straight. Don't lean against the slope. Lean away from it. Don't be
afraid. Don't trust to the rope or the grip of the ax. Rely on your
own stand."

It was no time to pick and choose phrases, yet Helen realized the
oddity of the absence of any reference to Bower. One other in the
party had a thought somewhat akin to hers; but he slurred it over in
his mind, and seized the opportunity to help her by a casual remark.

"Guess you hardly expected genuine ice work in to-day's trip?" he
said. "Stampa and I had a lot of it last week. It's as easy as walking
down stairs when you know how."

"I don't think I am afraid," she answered; "but I should have
preferred to walk up stairs first. This is rather reversing the
natural order of things, isn't it?"

"Nature loves irregularities. That is why the prize girl in every
novel has irregular features. A heroine with a Greek face would kill a
whole library."

"_Vorwaertz--es geht!_"

Barth's gruff voice sounded hollow from the depths. Karl, in his turn,
went over the lip of the crevasse. Helen, conscious of an exaltation
that lifted her out of the region of ignoble fear, looked down. She
could see now what was being done. Barth was swinging his ax and
smiting the ice with the adz. His head was just below the level of her
feet, though he was distant the full length of two sections of the
rope. He had cut broad black steps.