It was no use for either Caspar or Ossaroo to go up again. They had been on the ledge already; and had arrived at the same conviction. Karl’s report was final and conclusive.
All their ingenuity defeated—all their toil gone for nothing—their time wasted—their hopes blighted—the bright sky of their future once more obscured with darkest clouds—all through that unforeseen circumstance.
Just as when they returned out of the cavern—after that patient but fruitless search—just as then, sate they down upon the rocks—each staggering to that which was nearest him—sad, dispirited, forlorn.
There sate they, with eyes now fixed upon the ground, now turning towards the cliff and gazing mechanically upon that serried line, like the stairway of some gigantic spider—those long ladders, planted with so much pains, climbed only once, and never to be climbed again!
Chapter Twenty Seven.
An empty larder.
Long sat they in this attitude, all three, observing a profound silence. The air was keenly cold, for it was now mid-winter, but none of them seemed to feel the cold. The deep disappointment, the bitter chagrin that filled their minds, hindered them from perceiving bodily pain; and at that moment had an avalanche threatened to slide down upon them from the snowy summit above, not one of the three would have much cared to escape out of its way.
So tired had they become of their aerial prison—so terrified by the prospect of its continuing for ever—or at least as long as they might live—they could have contemplated even death without additional terror.