“If we go on as we are, herr, we shall be too weak to help him if we find him,” said Melchior, seating himself; and Saxe sank beside him, and involuntarily leaned up against the sturdy fellow, who began to search his wallet, and brought out the remains of some bread and cheese, the greater part of which he offered to his companion.
“No, no, Melk: I can’t eat,” he said.
“You must, herr—for his sake. Try.”
“A fair half, then,” said Saxe; and the guide smiled, and made a fresh division, which was slowly discussed every mouthful seeming to the boy as if it would choke him.
And as they ate the last faint light died away, and bright points of light began to twinkle overhead.
“It will be a bright night, thank Heaven!” said Melchior: “the storm threats have passed away. Hah! it begins to grow cold.”
“And I have made you worse,” said Saxe faintly, as he glanced at the sleeves of his companion’s shirt.
“Oh, that’s nothing, herr,” said the guide, stretching out his hands to feel Saxe’s feet; and after bidding him sit fast, lifting the boy’s feet across his own. “Keep them there,” he said: “they will be warmer while we rest; they were getting wet, and we must not have your feet frozen.”
“Does it freeze?” said Saxe drowsily.
“Yes, herr, sharply up here, as soon as the sun goes down. Now, you must not think me heartless if I light my pipe. Then we will start on again.”