red. Down in the valley of the Rhone behind them, the stream could
be traced through all its many windings, oppressively sombre and solemn
in its one leaden hue, a colourless waste. Far and high above them,
glaciers and suspended avalanches overhung the spots where they must
pass, by-and-by; deep and dark below them on their right, were awful
precipice and roaring torrent; tremendous mountains arose in every vista.
The gigantic landscape, uncheered by a touch of changing light or a
solitary ray of sun, was yet terribly distinct in its ferocity. The
hearts of two lonely men might shrink a little, if they had to win their
way for miles and hours among a legion of silent and motionless men--mere
men like themselves--all looking at them with fixed and frowning front.
But how much more, when the legion is of Nature's mightiest works, and
the frown may turn to fury in an instant!

As they ascended, the road became gradually more rugged and difficult.
But the spirits of Vendale rose as they mounted higher, leaving so much
more of the road behind them conquered. Obenreizer spoke little, and
held on with a determined purpose. Both, in respect of agility and
endurance, were well qualified for the expedition. Whatever the born
mountaineer read in the weather-tokens that was illegible to the other,
he kept to himself.

"Shall we get across to-day?" asked Vendale.

"No," replied the other. "You see how much deeper the snow lies here
than it lay half a league lower. The higher we mount the deeper the snow
will lie. Walking is half wading even now. And the days are so short!
If we get as high as the fifth Refuge, and lie to-night at the Hospice,
we shall do well."

"Is there no danger of the weather rising in the night," asked Vendale,
anxiously, "and snowing us up?"

"There is danger enough about us," said Obenreizer, with a cautious
glance onward and upward, "to render silence our best policy. You have
heard of the Bridge of the Ganther?"

"I have crossed it once."

"In the summer?"

"Yes; in the travelling season."

"Yes; but it is another thing at this season;" with a sneer, as though he
were out of temper. "This is not a time of year, or a state of things,
on an Alpine Pass, that you gentlemen holiday-travellers know much
about."

"You are my Guide," said Vendale, good humouredly. "I trust to you."

"I am your Guide," said Obenreizer, "and I will guide you to your
journey's end. There is the Bridge bef