o arduous that he began to wish for the time
when they would leave the glacier and take to the rocks.

But he could not keep silence long.

"Shall we have to go back along the mountain?" he said. "Or will there
be some other track?"

"I expect we shall cross the ridge into a similar valley to this, and go
down another glacier; but--Ah! Hold tight!"

He threw himself backward, tightening the rope, and as soon as he could
get over his surprise at the suddenness of the accident, Saxe followed
his companion's example. For all at once Melchior disappeared, passing
through the snow, and a hollow, echoing, rushing noise fell upon their
ears.

"Haul away, gentlemen!" cried the guide's voice; and as they dragged at
the rope, they saw his arms appear with the ice-axe, which was struck
down into the snow, and directly after the man climbed out, rose from
his hands and knees, and shook the snow off his clothes.

"We wanted the rope, you see," he said quietly. "I ought to have known
by the snow that this part was dangerous. No harm done, gentlemen.
Let's strike off for the side."

"But you went through," said Saxe excitedly. "Was it a crevasse?"

"Yes, of course," said the guide, smiling.

"Was it deep?"

"Deep? Oh yes! Would you like to look?"

Saxe nodded, and the guide drew back for him to pass, but took hold of
the rope and held it tightly.

"Go on," he said encouragingly. "I have you fast."

"But how near can I go?" said Saxe, hesitating.

"Nearly to where I broke through the snow crust. You will see."

Saxe went on cautiously, still seeing nothing till he was close upon the
hole, which was a fairly wide opening, a quantity of half-frozen snow
having given way as the guide's weight rested upon it, and dropped into
the black-looking rift, which was lightly bridged over on either side by
the snow.

"Lean over if you like, and hang on by the rope," said Melchior, "if you
want to look down."

Saxe could not say he did not want to look down, for there was a strange
fascination about the place which seemed to draw him. But he resisted,
and after a quick glance at the thick snow which arched over the
crevasse, he drew back; and Melchior led on again, striking the shaft of
his ice-axe handle down through the crust before him at every step, and
divining, by long practice and the colour of the snow, the direction of
the crevasse so well, that he only once diverged from the edge
sufficiently for the handle