of rock and snow, the awful voices with which not only that gorge but
every gorge in the whole monstrous range seemed to be suddenly endowed,
the darkness as of night, the violent revolving of the snow which beat
and broke it into spray and blinded them, the madness of everything
around insatiate for destruction, the rapid substitution of furious
violence for unnatural calm, and hosts of appalling sounds for silence:
these were things, on the edge of a deep abyss, to chill the blood,
though the fierce wind, made actually solid by ice and snow, had failed
to chill it.

Obenreizer, walking to and fro in the gallery without ceasing, signed to
Vendale to help him unbuckle his knapsack. They could see each other,
but could not have heard each other speak. Vendale complying, Obenreizer
produced his bottle of wine, and poured some out, motioning Vendale to
take that for warmth's sake, and not brandy. Vendale again complying,
Obenreizer seemed to drink after him, and the two walked backwards and
forwards side by side; both well knowing that to rest or sleep would be
to die.

The snow came driving heavily into the gallery by the upper end at which
they would pass out of it, if they ever passed out; for greater dangers
lay on the road behind them than before. The snow soon began to choke
the arch. An hour more, and it lay so high as to block out half the
returning daylight. But it froze hard now, as it fell, and could be
clambered through or over. The violence of the mountain storm was
gradually yielding to steady snowfall. The wind still raged at
intervals, but not incessantly; and when it paused, the snow fell in
heavy flakes.

They might have been two hours in their frightful prison, when
Obenreizer, now crunching into the mound, now creeping over it with his
head bowed down and his body touching the top of the arch, made his way
out. Vendale followed close upon him, but followed without clear motive
or calculation. For the lethargy of Basle was creeping over him again,
and mastering his senses.

How far he had followed out of the gallery, or with what obstacles he had
since contended, he knew not. He became roused to the knowledge that
Obenreizer had set upon him, and that they were struggling desperately in
the snow. He became roused to the remembrance of what his assailant
carried in a girdle. He felt for it, drew it, struck at him, struggled
again, struck at him again, cast him off, and stood face to face