nfortunate
prisoner utter a despairing cry of rage, which had the effect of
bringing the sound once more nearer and nearer still, and at last so
close that he knew it was Melchior's voice which cried--

"Now, once more shout. Where are you?"

Saxe's lips parted, and he drew in his breath in the excitement and
relief of feeling that help was so close at hand; but no sound would
come save a low, hoarse gasp, and then a giddy sensation came over him,
and once more all was darkness.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

FROM THE SNOW GRAVE.

Saxe seemed to have awakened from sleep with a terrible throbbing
headache, to listen to a curious digging sound which was going on over
his head. He could hear a loud rumbling too, and, as he was still
wandering and confused at being suddenly awakened, as it appeared to
him, the truth came with a leap, just as the axe handle, which he still
held, was sharply agitated to keep the hole open, and Melchior's voice
came down to him.

"Try--try and speak, young herr!" But for a few moments no word would
come from his lips. He wanted to speak; he strove hard, wondering the
while at his silence; but not a sound came, till there was a deep groan
from above him, and then with a sudden rush the words came from his pent
up breast--

"Melk! Help--help!"

"Hah! That's right. Yes, boy!" was shouted down to him loudly.
"That's right. Keep a good heart, and I'll soon have you out. Can you
breathe well?"

The axe handle was agitated while these words were spoken; and as Saxe
replied, the efforts of the guide were renewed, and he cut and chopped
away at the compressed snow, sending the sparkling crystals flying, and
toiling hard; while a word or two were exchanged from time to time, the
guide's being so full of encouragement and promise that the boy grew
more and more hopeful.

At last the fragments of snow began to crumble down more rapidly; and,
in spite of Melchior's efforts to keep the way clear, the snow rose
about Saxe's face, so that very little more of it would have meant
suffocation. The boy fought hard with his left hand to keep the snow
clear, but there was no space sufficient for him to sweep it right away;
and the moments grew more and more anxious as Melchior's axe cut and
chipped, and he tore out great pieces from the hole he was making and
hurled them down the slope.

And all the while the prisoner gazed up through his pinched-together
eyes, for the fragments and ice dust fe