looked so solid at Saxe's feet that more than once he was ready to make
a false step, while he wondered in himself that he did not feel more
alarm, but attributed the cause rightly to the fact that he could not
see the danger yawning below. To make the passage along this ledge the
more perilous and strange, each was invisible to the other, and their
voices in the awful solitude sounded muffled and strange.

As Saxe stepped cautiously along, feeling his way by the wall and
beating the edge of the precipice with the handle of his ice-axe, he
felt over again the sensations he had had in passing along there that
morning. But the dread was not so keen--only lest there should be a
sudden strain on the rope caused by one of them slipping; and he judged
rightly that, had one of them gone over the precipice here, nothing
could have saved the others, for there was no good hold that they could
seize, to bear up against the sudden jerk.

"Over!" shouted Melchior at last. "Steady, herr--steady! Don't hurry!
That's it: give me your hand."

"I can't see you."

"No? Come along, then, another yard or two: you are not quite off the
ledge. That's it. Safe!"

"And thank goodness!" said Dale, with a sigh of relief, a few minutes
later. "That was worse than ever. Saxe, my lad, you are having a
month's mountaineering crowded into one day."

"Yes, herr," said Melchior; "he is having a very great lesson, and he'll
feel a different person when he lies down to sleep."

"He will if we have anywhere to sleep to-night. It seems to me as if we
must sit under a block of stone and wait until this mist is gone."

"Oh no, herr," said the guide; "we will keep to the rope, and you two
will save me if I get into a bad place. I seem to know this mountain
pretty well now; and, if you recollect, there was nothing very bad. I
think we'll go on, if you please, and try and reach the camp."

"You asked me to trust you," said Dale. "I will. Go on."

"Forward, then; and if I do not hit the snow col I shall find the
valley, and we can journey back."

For the first time Saxe began to feel how utterly exhausted he had
grown. Till now the excitement and heat of the journey had monopolised
all his thoughts; but, as they stumbled on down slope after slope strewn
with debris, or over patches of deep snow, his legs dragged heavily, and
he struck himself awkwardly against blocks of granite that he might have
avoided.

The work was comparatively