was reached.

"Now," said Dale, "reach over as far as you can, and drive in the pick
of your axe."

Saxe obeyed.

"Now try and draw yourself up. That's right. I've got hold of the
rope. Now--together! That's right."

There was a heavy tug, and as some more snow rattled down into the gulf
Saxe was drawn over the edge on to the surface, where the first thing he
noticed was the fact that the other end of the rope had been fastened
round Dale's waist and passed round the ashen handle, so that when Dale
had lain down he had been able to support Saxe, and yet leave his hands
free.

"Untie yourself," said Dale gravely. "I am going to draw up the
lanthorn."

"And what are you going to do then?" asked Saxe, who lay on the snow
panting, as if he had just gone through some very great exertion.

"Go back and give notice. Get together two or three guides, and consult
with them as to what is best to be done."

"Then you give him up?" said Saxe mournfully.

Dale looked at him in silence, for there seemed to be no answer needed
to such a question, as he slowly wound in the string which held the
lanthorn.

"Now, back to the valley as fast as we can," said Dale, as he dragged
his ice-axe out of the crack and threw the rope over his shoulder, and
glanced round at the sky. "Got the lanthorn and string?"

"Yes," replied Saxe; "but we cannot get there before night."

"We cannot get any farther than the camp before dark, my boy," said Dale
sadly. "It is impossible to go on then. We must wait there till
daybreak, and then go for help."

"One minute, sir," said Saxe; but it was three or four before he could
go on.

"Yes," said Dale.

"I only wanted to ask whether you think he is dead!"

"I'd give five years of my life, boy, to be able to say no; but I
cannot!"

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

FROM OUT OF THE DEPTHS.

They began to descend the great ice-torrent in solemn silence; but
before they had gone fifty yards Saxe stopped short, darted a wild,
apologetic look at Dale, and began to run back toward the crevasse.

Dale followed him more slowly, and reached the boy as he was lying down
with his head and shoulders over the brink.

"Mel--chi--or!" shouted Saxe, with his hands on either side of his
mouth--a long-drawn, piteous cry, in which he formed the name into three
syllables; and as Dale leaned over and listened to the strange hollow
reverberations down below, it was as if a voice repeated the last
syllable i