“I don’t know, herr; but the sun will soon be up. Look!”
He pointed overhead to where, grim-looking and grey, one of the mountains towered up: and right away, at a great height, there was what looked like a broad streak of pale—very pale—red, apparently a piece of cloud just over the mountain top.
“What’s that?”
“Snow, herr, beginning to be lit up by the sun. That is where we are going by-and-by—the mountain with the enow on one side but bare rock on the other.”
Saxe stood gazing upward with a feeling of awe creeping over him. There was no mistake about height here. The line of snow, which ended as quickly as if it had been cut square at one end, seemed terribly far away; and Saxe was thinking that it seemed almost madness to try and reach such a spot, when Melchior drew his attention to first one and then another flake of ruddy light in the distance.
“Clouds?” asked Saxe; though he felt what the answer would be.
“No,” replied the guide—“mountain peaks. Will you awaken Mr Dale, or shall I?”
“I am awake,” said that personage. “Is there any water near here? Oh yes, I remember. Well, Saxe, had your bath?”
Saxe looked confused, and said nothing.
“I asked you if you had had your bath, my lad,” said Mr Dale, looking at him wonderingly.