It gets colder and colder, and I am fain to wrap myself in my Highland plaid.
We meet some horses and carts; the horses start or shy, and remembering our adventure of yesterday we feel nervous till they pass.
On and on, and up and up. We are among the clouds, and the air is cold and damp.
We now near the gloomy mountains and deep ravines of Slochmuichk.
We stop and have a peep ahead. Must the Wanderer, indeed, climb that terrible hill? Down beneath that narrow mountain path the ravine is 500 feet deep at the least. There is a sharp corner to turn, too, up yonder, and what is beyond?
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