“Will the herr continue the search to-morrow, or go to the grotto?” said Melchior, as they lay down to sleep.
“Continue the search,” said Dale sternly; and the next day and the next they toiled on, going farther and farther into the mountains, but there was no other result than weariness.
“It’s enough to make one believe in Melchior’s goblins,” said Dale petulantly, “all those beautiful crystals to have been spirited away like that. But never mind: we shall find them to-morrow, I feel sure.”
But when to-morrow came Dale did not feel so sure; and, altering his mind, to Saxe’s great delight, they took the mule and started for the grotto once again.
Dale went first, and the mule followed, Saxe walking behind with Melchior, until they reached the black ravine.
“I am glad,” the boy said, as they trudged along over the rock and ice. “It was all waste of time trying to catch those fellows.”
“Yes, herr—quite.”
“Have you no idea as to whom it could be, Melk?”
“No, herr, not the least. Mr Dale must have talked about his journey to some one as you came, and clever people have been let to watch you.”
“Well, it’s no use crying over spilt milk, even if it is Swiss milk,” said Saxe, laughing.