ay sky. An inopportune flurry of snow, a
flaw of wind:--and even now all would be lost. Dusk too impended, and
as the rope began to coil on the windlass at the signal to hoist every
eye was strained to discern the identity of the first voyagers in this
aerial journey,--the two children, securely lashed to the chair. This
was well,--all felt that both parents might best wait, might risk
the added delay. The chair came swinging easily, swiftly, along the
gradations of the rise, the guy-rope holding it well from the chances
of contact with the jagged projections of the face of the cliff, and the
first shout of triumph rang sonorously from the summit.

When next the chair rested on the cabin beside the window, a thrill of
anxiety and anger went through Kennedy's heart to note, from his perch
on the leaning pine, a struggle between husband and wife as to who
should go first. Each was eager to take the many risks incident to the
long wait in this precarious lodgment. The man was the stronger. Aurelia
was forced into the chair, tied fast, pushed off, waving' her hand to
her husband, shedding floods of tears, looking at him for the last time,
as she fancied, and calling out dismally, "Far'well, Basil, far'-well."

Even this lugubrious demonstration could not damp the spirits of the men
working like mad at the windlass. They were jovial enough for bursts
of laughter when it became apparent that Basil had utilized the ensuing
interval to tie together, in preparation for the ascent with himself,
the two objects which he next most treasured, his violin and his old
hound. The trusty chair bore all aloft, and Basil was received with
welcoming acclamations.

Before the rope was wound anew and for the last time, the aspect of
the group on the cliff had changed. It had grown eerie, indistinct. The
pines and firs showed no longer their sempervirent green, but were black
amid the white tufted lines on their branches, that still served to
accentuate their symmetry. The vale had disappeared in a sinister abyss
of gloom, though Kennedy would not look down at its menace, but upward,
always upward. Thus he saw, like some radiant and splendid star, the
first torch whitely aglow on the brink of the precipice. It opened long
avenues of light adown the snowy landscape,--soft blue shadows trailed
after it, like half-descried draperies of elusive hovering beings. Soon
the torch was duplicated; another and then another began to glow. Now
several dr