" thought he, and immediately swayed aloft his axe
again, lifting, as he did so, his heart to his Maker for the second time
that day. A few minutes more, and he stood at the foot of the couloir.

Without a moment's pause he hurried on, and finally reached the lower
slopes of the mountains. Here, to his inexpressible joy and
thankfulness, he fell in with a sheep-track, and, following it up, was
soon on the high-road of the valley. But it was not till far on in the
night that he reached Chamouni, scarce able to drag himself along.

He went straight to the Bureau of Guides, where a profound sensation was
created by the sad tidings which he brought. Antoine Grennon happened
to be there, and to him Lewis told his sad tale, at the same time
eagerly suggesting that an immediate search should be made for the body,
and offering to go back at once to guide them to the scene of the
accident. Antoine looked earnestly in the youth's face.

"Ah, Monsieur," he said, shaking his head, "you are not fit to guide any
one to-night. Besides, I know the place well. If poor Le Croix has
fallen into that crevasse, he is now past all human aid."

"But why not start at once?" said Lewis, anxiously, "if there is but the
merest vestige of a chance--"

"There is no chance, Monsieur, if your description is correct; besides,
no man could find the spot in a dark night. But rest assured that we
will not fail to do our duty to our comrade. A party will start off
within an hour, proceed as far as is possible during the night, and, at
the first gleam of day, we will push up the mountains. We need no one
to guide us, but you need rest. Go, in the morning you may be able to
follow us."

We need scarcely say that the search was unavailing. The body of the
unfortunate hunter was never recovered. In all probability it still
lies entombed in the ice of the great glacier.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

A MYSTERY CLEARED UP.

"Is Nita unwell, Emma?" asked Lewis early one morning, not long after
the sad event narrated in the last chapter.

"I think not. She is merely depressed, as we all are, by the melancholy
death of poor Le Croix."

"I can well believe it," returned Lewis. "Nevertheless, it seems to me
that her careworn expression and deep despondency cannot be accounted
for by that event."

"You know that her father left last week very suddenly," said Emma.
"Perhaps there may be domestic affairs that weigh heavily on her. I
know not, fo