“Why?”
“We might be frozen to death. Come, Saxe, you must not be greedy. You’ve had a splendid ascent on a lovely day, and you will have others. Always pay respect to your guide’s opinion about the weather. Come along.”
Saxe could hang back no longer, though the sensation of dread he suffered from was terrible. Try how he would, there was the horror of that first bit of the descent before him; and, shuddering and feeling cold, he followed to the edge of the rock where he had found the guide sitting, and a fresh access of horror came over him as Dale said coolly:
“Now, Melchior, it is your turn to go first and have the use of the rope. I’ll come last.”
“We can all use it, herr,” said the guide. “It will be quite long enough if I pass it round this block and let both ends hang down. I can draw it after us when we are down.”
He threw the rope over a great block of granite, and proceeded to draw it along till the ends were equal, when he lightly twisted the rope and threw it over the precipice.
“Then I’ll go first,” said Dale; and, seizing the twisted rope, he lowered himself over the edge, hung in sight for a few moments, and then, as soon as his hands were clear of the edge, allowed himself to slide down, while Saxe’s palms felt cold and wet.
He watched the rope intently and strained his ears, and then started, for Melchior gently laid his hand upon his shoulder.
“What is it?” cried Saxe excitedly. “Has he fallen?”
“No, herr; and nobody is going to fall. You are fancying troubles. I know. I have not led strangers up the mountains for twenty years without studying their faces as well as the face of Nature. I can read yours. You are scarcely yourself, and feeling fear where there is no need. Come now, take a long breath. Make an effort, and be calm. I’ll draw up the rope and fasten one end round you, and lower you down.”