“A waterfall,” said Melchior. “The waters on the mountains are gathering together and plunging into the valley. Listen, and you can hear others,” he continued, as he held up his hand.
From apparently close at hand what sounded like the echo of the first fall could be heard, and beyond that, farther away, another, and again another, and so on, fainter and fainter, till the whole valley seemed to be filled with the noise of rushing waters.
It was somewhat awe-inspiring, and suggested the possibility of a great flood coming down upon them to sweep everything away; but at the hint of such a catastrophe Melchior shook his head.
“Oh no,” he said. “If we were on the bank of a big stream that might be, and we should have to climb up to a place of safety; but here the waters divide a hundred ways, and will never reach us. Hah!—snow.”
He held up his hand as a rushing noise was heard somewhere high up among the dense mists. This rapidly increased to a terrific roar, followed by a deep booming crash; and so tremendous was the sound, that the noise of the falling waters seemed for the moment to be hushed. Then the thunderous crash rolled right away among the mountains, dying in faint echoes, and the rush of the waterfalls filled the air once more.
“A heavy avalanche, Melchior,” said Dale.
“Yes, herr; there is a great deal of snow up in the mountains, and this will make more.”
“What, this rain?” said Saxe.
“It is snow a thousand feet up, herr. When the clouds pass away you will see.”
Melchior’s words were correct, for toward evening the rain ceased quite suddenly, and the sun broke through the mists, which rolled their way up the mountain sides as if to reach the snow peaks. And all the lower slopes were now powdered with newly fallen snow, where they had been green on the previous day.