“The sound comes from down here,” he said.
“Possibly. But come up here, and we may hear it more plainly. Give me your hand.”
“I can manage,” cried Saxe, and he seemed to have forgotten his exhaustion as he sprang up the rugged blocks, and wound in and out till they came to a smooth part, where Dale halted.
“Yes,” he said, as the chipping went on; “the ice conducts the sound. It comes more from the centre of the glacier.”
“It doesn’t,” said Saxe to himself. “I’m sure it comes from below.”
But he said nothing aloud, only followed his companion as he led him on, and in and out, with the sound playing with their ears as the will-o’-the-wisp is said to play with the eyes.
For sometimes it was heard plainly. Then, as they wandered on amidst quite a labyrinth of piled-up ice that at another time they would have shunned in dread of danger, and through which they were now impelled by a strange feeling of excitement, the noise died quite away.
At such times they were in despair; but as they pressed on they could hear the chipping again.
Finally Dale stopped short, beneath a tall spire of ice, and held up his hand.
“I’m afraid we have wasted a valuable half-hour, Saxe,” he said. “There can be nothing here.”