Dale obeyed without a word, as mountaineers do follow out the instructions one gives to another without question; and this done, he finished the climb and stood up.

"Rather a bad bit," he said; "that projecting rock was awkward."

"Yes, herr, it teased me a little," replied Melchior quietly, "but I found good hold for my feet. What do you think of it now?"

"Why, there's no more to do but walk quietly up this slope."

"And in ten minutes we shall stand on the snow at the very top."

Saxe drew a long breath full of relief as he looked behind him; and, gathering up the rope, Melchior trudged on ahead, picking the best path among the weathered and splintered rocks, till in a short time he climbed up over the last slope, dug his ice-axe in the thick stratum of snow, which began suddenly and sloped down toward the north, and uttered a loud jodel.

The others joined him directly, a peculiar sensation of nervousness still affecting Saxe, though the place was perfectly safe, and he could have run some distance in any direction without risk of a fall.

"Grand!" cried Dale, as he looked round. "What a view! and how strange that we should be able to stand here on the dividing line one foot on snow, one on rock. Well, Saxe, I congratulate you on your first ascent.

You have done wonders."

"Have I?" said the boy nervously.

"Yes, wonders, herr. Bravo! Bravo!"

"Have I?" said Saxe faintly, as to himself he thought, "Oh, if they only knew!"

"Yes, my boy; but what's the matter?"

"I--I don't know," he panted; "I--I feel as if I had overdone it, and broken something."

"Eh? What? Where?" cried Dale, anxiously catching him by the arm.

"Here," said Saxe, striking his chest: "I can't breathe enough; it comes short, like that."

The others burst out laughing; and Saxe stared at them angrily: it seemed so unfeeling.

"Sit down, boy. Come, Melchior, lunch or dinner. We've got to descend.

Why, Saxe lad, where's your school teaching?"

"My teaching?"

"Yes. Don't you know you are about eleven or twelve thousand feet above sea-level?"

"I know we are terribly high."

"Yes, and the air is so thin and rarefied that breathing is hard work.

That's nothing. Now for a good rest and refresh. We must not stay up here very long."

"No, herr," said the guide, spreading the contents of the wallet on the rocks in the sunshine. "The weather changes quickly up these mountains.

Look! yonder the mists are gathering already."

He pointed to the clouds hanging round the nearest peak, as they sat down and ate with mountaineers' appet.i.tes, till, just as they were ending, Melchior rose--rather excitedly for him.

"Look!" he said, pointing: "you do not often see that."

He pointed to where the landscape, with its peaks and vales, was blotted out by a peculiar-looking sunlit haze, in which were curious, misty, luminous bodies; and as they looked, there, each moment growing more distinct, were three gigantic human figures, whose aspect, in his highly strained state, seemed awful to one of the lookers-on.

"Change of weather, Melchior," said Dale.

"Perhaps, herr; but I think we shall have plenty of time to get down first."

"What is it?" said Saxe, whose eyes were fixed upon the strange apparition.

"Only our reflections on the face of that mist," said Dale. "Lift up your alpenstock and wave it."

Saxe did so, and the central giant did the same.

"Both hands."

This was imitated, and every other movement, in a weird fashion that was impressive as it was startling.

"It is only one of Nature's own looking-gla.s.ses," said Dale laughingly.

"But there are some of our people who look upon it as a warning," said the guide gravely. "They say it signifies that those who see it will soon die in the mountains."

Saxe turned pale. He was in such an exalted condition, mentally as well as bodily, that the slightest thing threatened to upset him; and at the guide's words a profound sensation of horror attacked him, making him feel utterly unnerved:

"They had all those dreadful places to descend."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A MOUNTAIN MIST.

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Dale, as he watched the strange phenomenon; "people will talk superst.i.tious nonsense and believe in ghost stories, portents and other old women's tales. But don't you take any notice of them, Saxe. They will not do for Englishmen. Why, you have no faith in such things, Melchior?"

"Not much, herr," said the guide, smiling: "I have seen the 'spectre of the Brocken,' as people call it, twenty times at least. But I do fear mists."

"Yes; those are real dangers. And you think we shall have them here!"

"Yes, herr. I should like us to descend at once. We can do nothing in a fog."

"Come along, Saxe: we'll go down."

"Can't--can't we stop a little longer?" said the lad hesitatingly.

"No. You will have plenty more chances of seeing views like this, or finer. What is it, Melchior?"

"We were forgetting all about the rocks, herr. There are some curious bits here."

He picked up two or three fragments and handled them, but Dale threw them aside after a glance.