No answer; and he shouted again.
“Do—do you feel sure he did fall down here?” said Saxe with difficulty, for his voice seemed to come from a throat that was all dry, and over a tongue that was parched.
“There can be no doubt about it,” said Dale sadly. “Oh, poor fellow! poor fellow! I feel as if I am to blame for his death.”
“Melk—Mel–chi–or!” shouted Saxe, with his hands to his mouth, as he lay there upon his chest, and he tried to send his voice down into the dark depths below.
There was a curious echo, that was all; and he lay listening to the rushing water and trying to pierce the darkness which looked like a mist.
At another time he would have thought of the solemn beauty of the place, with its wonderful gradations of blue growing deeper as they descended. Now there was nothing but chilly horror, for the chasm was to him the tomb of the faithful companion and friend of many days.
Dale shouted again with all his might, but there were only the awe-inspiring, whispering echoes, as his voice reverberated from the smoothly fractured ice, and he rose to his feet, but stood gazing down into the crevasse.
“Yes, he is lying there, stunned and helpless—perhaps dead,” he added to himself. “Saxe, one of us must go down and help him.”
“Of course,” cried Saxe, speaking out firmly, though a curious sensation of shrinking came over him as he spoke. “I’ll go.”
“I would go myself, boy,” said Dale huskily; “but it is impossible. You could not draw me out, and I’m afraid that I could not climb back; whereas I could lower you down and pull you up again.”