“How much farther have we to go?” said Mrs Chumley at last.
“We are at the bottom,” replied Yussuf. “Mind, there are stones here. You must mind or you will hurt yourselves, and the wind will put out the lamp directly. There is an opening here, and when I have thrust out a stone or two we shall be on a rocky path. You will all follow me closely. Better take hold of hands; then, if one slips, all can help.”
But the wind did not blow out the lamp; and as they stood watching Yussuf creep along a narrow horizontal passage the light shone upon the dazzling snow which had filled up the hole, and after thrusting at it for a few minutes and scraping it down their guide desisted and crept back.
“I feared this,” he said sadly.
“Feared! Feared what?” cried Mr Burne.
“The snow, effendi. The way is blocked; the snow must be drifting down from the mountains and falling in sheets.”
“But it will not last, man?”
“Perhaps for days, excellency; and even if the hole were open, I see it would be utter madness to brave the dangers of that shelf of rock in the face of this storm.”
“Oh, nonsense!” cried Mr Burne; “let’s go on. We cannot get back.”
“His excellency does not know the perils of a mountain snow-storm or he would not say this. Suppose that we could force our way out through that snow, how are we to find the buried path with a precipice of a thousand feet below? No, excellencies, we are stopped for the present and must get back.”