Faintly as it was seen, it was plain enough to those who watched with throbbing pulses. The lanthorn had been beyond Melchior's reach, and as he lay there on a kind of shelf or fault in the ice, he had tried to hook the string toward him with his ice-axe, slipped, and would have gone headlong down lower, but for the mountaineer's instinctive effort to save himself by striking his axe-pick into the ice.

No one spoke, but every pulse was throbbing painfully as the man's actions were watched, down far beneath them, he seeming to be in the centre of a little halo of light, while everything around was pitchy black.

"He has got it," muttered Saxe, after a painful pause; and then they heard the clink of the ice against the lanthorn, and saw the latter move, while directly after, from out of the silence below, there came the sound of a deeply drawn breath. "Can you hold on there?" said Dale then, sharply. "A little while, herr. I am cold, but hope will put life in me." Dale waited a few minutes, and Saxe touched him imploringly. "What shall we do?" he whispered. "Shall I go for help?"

"No. Get your axe, and begin cutting some foothold for us: three or four good deep, long notches, about a yard apart. Begin six or eight feet away from the edge. We want purchase to pull him out."

"But the rope--the rope!" cried Saxe. "Do as I tell you."

Saxe obeyed without a word, driving the pick-end into the ice, and making the chips fly in the grey light of evening, for the shadows were now falling fast; and as the lad worked and cut the deep groove, Dale bent over the creva.s.se and spoke.

"Better!" he said.

"Yes, herr: more life in me now."

"Have you your rope?"

Saxe stopped to listen for the answer, and, though it was only a matter of moments, he suffered agonies of expectation before he heard the answer.

"Yes."

"Take off the lanthorn and stand it by you, or fasten it to your belt."

"Yes, herr."

"Make fast your rope to the string, and let me draw it up."

"It will not reach, herr."

"I know. I have mine."

There was a pause only broken by the chipping of the ice-axe, and then the voice came up again in a hollow whisper--

"Ready!"

"If it will only bear it," muttered Dale, as he steadily drew upon the string, hand over hand, expecting moment by moment that it would part.

But it bore the weight of the rope well, and in a few minutes he was able to lift the coil over the edge on to the glacier.

Saxe heard him give a sigh of relief as he bent down and drew it away; but he turned back to the crack directly, and shouted down in slow, solemn words--

"Keep a good heart man, and if it is to be done we'll save you."

"With G.o.d's help, herr," came up; and the voice sounded to Saxe, as he toiled away, less despairing.

"Now!" cried Dale, speaking quickly and excitedly: "pray with me, lad, that these two ropes together may be long enough. Quick! Out with your knife."

Saxe obeyed, and stood ready while Dale rapidly joined the two ropes together; but, not content with his knot, he cut off a couple of pieces of string, and rapidly bound down the loose ends so that they should by no possibility slip through the loops.

This done, and Saxe once more cutting the grooves he was making more deeply, Dale rapidly ran Melchior's rope through his hands, and made a knot and slip-noose.

"Keep on cutting," he said to Saxe. "No: a better idea. Pick a hole-- there!" He stamped his foot in the place he meant. "Small and deep, so as to turn your axe into an anchor if we want its help. Work--hard!"

Saxe drove his axe down on to the ice with vigour, blow after blow sending the tiny crystals flying, while he had to fight down the intense desire to leave off and watch the rescue, as Dale began to lower the noose he had made.

"Is it long enough?--is it long enough?" he muttered, as he rapidly pa.s.sed the rope through his hands, Saxe giving a side glance from time to time as he picked away.

Down went the whole length of the guide's line, and the knot pa.s.sed Dale's hands, after which the weight was sufficient to draw down the new rope, whose rings uncoiled rapidly, and, as their number grew fewer, Saxe breathed hard, and he echoed Dale's words, "Will it be long enough?"

The last coil but three--the last coil but two--the last coil but one-- the last coil; and Dale's nervous right hand closed upon the very end, and he went close to the brink and looked down at the light.

"Can you reach it?" he shouted.

There was a pause, and then the voice came up--

"No! Lower a little more."

Dale groaned. Then, lying down, he held his hands close to the edge, giving quite another three feet to the length.

"Can you reach it now?"

"No."

"How far off is it above you?"

There was a pause, and then--

"I can just touch it with the end of my finger. I am lying down, and holding on with one hand and my ice-axe. If I could use my axe, I could pull it down."

"No, no!" shouted Dale. "The rope is all out. Stop: if I give you another two feet, can you get your arm well through the noose I have made, and hang on?"

"I will try."

"Come here, Saxe. I am going to lean over the edge and hold the rope down as far as I can reach. Drive the head of your axe into the hole you have made, and hold on with one hand; take hold of my ankle with the other. There will be no strain upon you, but it will give me strength by holding me in my place."

The axe was driven in to hold like an anchor, and Saxe shuddered as he held by the handle and took a good grip of Dale by thrusting his fingers in at the top of his heavy mountaineering boot.

Then Dale shuffled himself as far over the brink as he dared, and stretched his arms down to their full extent.

"Now: can you do it?"

Another terrible pause.

"No, herr."

Dale groaned, and was wondering whether he could achieve his aim by drawing up the rope, re-knotting it, and making the noose smaller, but just then Melchior spoke.

"If I could free my ice-axe, I could hook on to it, herr. I can see the loop quite plainly, but I dare not stir--I can only move one hand."

"Wait!" cried Dale. "Ice-axe!"