here, and ever so much farther off.”

“And it will look bigger still when we reach the cave where the river comes out.”

“So!” said Melchior quietly; and he went on, now down the stony slope of the valley, to reach the river bed near its source, with the sides of the thal seeming to grow steeper and higher, and one of the waterfalls they were near infinitely more beautiful, for they had now reached the point necessary for seeing the lovely iris which spanned the cascade, turning its seething spray into a segment of an arch of the most vivid colours, at which the lad seemed disposed to gaze for an indefinite time.

“Vorwarts,” said the guide quietly; and they obeyed, following his lead till they reached the spot where the clear waters of the fall glided into the dingy stream, and then followed the latter up and up for quite half an hour before Saxe stopped short, and took off his straw hat to wipe his steaming forehead, as he gazed up at the end of the glacier; he was now so low down that the surface was invisible, and facing him there was a curve rising up and up, looking like a blunted set of natural steps.

“Well?” said Dale, inquiringly.

“I can’t make it out,” said Saxe, rather breathlessly. “It seems as if that thing were playing games with us, and growing bigger and shrinking away farther at every step one takes.”

“Yes,” said Dale, “it is giving you a lesson that you will not easily forget.”

“But it looked quite small when we were up there,” cried Saxe, nodding toward the tower-like bluff they had climbed, again at the top of the glacier.

“Yes, and now it looks quite big, Saxe; and when you have been on it and have walked a few miles upon its surface here and there—”

“Miles?”

“Yes, my boy, miles. Then you will begin to grasp how big all this is, and what vast deserts of ice and snow there are about us in the mountains. But come along; we have not much farther to go to reach the foot.”

But it took them quite a quarter of an hour over rounded, scratched and polished masses of rock which were in places cut into grooves, and to all this Dale drew attention.

“Do you see what it means?” he said.

“No,” said Saxe, “only that it’s very bad walking, now it’s so steep.”

“But don’t you see that—?”

“Yes, I do,” cried Saxe, interrupting him; “you mean that this has been all rubbed smooth by the ice and stones grinding over it; but how could it?—the ice couldn’t go up hill.”

“No, it comes down.”

“Then—was it once as far as here?”

“Ever so much farther when I was a boy,” said the guide. “It has been shrinking for years. Mind, herr; it is very slippery here. Let me help you.”

He hooked his ice-axe into a crevice, and held out his hand, by whose help Saxe mounted beside him, and here descending close to the water they stepped from stone to stone, with the ice towering more and more above their heads, till they were close up, and even below it, for they had entered a low, flat arch, which just admitted them standing upright, and after a few steps into what Saxe called a blue gloom, they stood gazing into the azure depths of the cavern, which grew darker till they were purple and then utterly black. Then they listened to the gurgle and babble of the tiny river, as it came rushing and dashing over the rock in many an eddy and swirl, while from far away up in the darkness there were mysterious whisperings and musical echoes that were strange to hear.

“Like to go in any farther, Saxe?” said Dale.

“Yes, much—very much,” said the lad, in a low voice, “just because I don’t want to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I can’t exactly explain it, because the place makes me feel nervous and a little shrinking, but I want to try and get over it.”

“Better not stay any longer, herr,” said the guide; “you are hot with walking, and the place is damp and cold.”

“Yes, it would be wiser to go out in the sunshine again. I should like to explore this, though, with a lantern and candles.”

“Whenever the herr likes,” said the guide quietly. And they passed out again, the icy arch above them looking exquisitely beautiful with its blue tints, some of which were of the delicious brilliancy to be seen in some of our precious stones.

It was a wonderful change from the cool gloom of the cavern to the glaring sunshine outside, where the heat was reflected from the ice and glistening rocks; and now, striking up to the right, Melchior made for where the ice ended and the steep slope-up of the valley side began.

Here with a little difficulty they mounted—sometimes the rock growing too steep and the ice appearing the easier path, then the reverse, till at last they stood well up on the surface of the frozen river and began its toilsome ascent.

“Now you’ll find the advantage of your big-nailed boots, Saxe,” said his leader merrily. “Go cautiously, my lad; we mustn’t spoil our explorations by getting sprained ankles.”

The warning was necessary, for the ice surface was broken up into ruts, hollows, folds, and crags that required great caution, and proved to be laborious in the extreme to surmount.

“Is there much more of this rough stuff?” said Saxe, after half an hour’s climbing.

The guide smiled.

“The ice gets bigger and wilder higher up,” he replied. “There are smooth patches, but it is broken up into crags and seracs.”

This was another surprise to Saxe, to whom the surface of the glacier, when seen from above on the bluff, had looked fairly smooth—just, in fact, one great winding mass of ice flowing down in a curve to the foot. He was not prepared for the chaos of worn, tumbled and crushed-up masses, among which the guide led the way. Some parts that were smoother were worn and channelled by the running water, which rushed in all directions, mostly off the roughly curved centre to the sides, where it made its way to the river beneath.

It was quite a wonderland to the boy fresh from town, entering the icy strongholds of nature; for, after ascending a little farther, their way was barred by jagged and pinnacled masses heaped together in the wildest confusion, many of the fragments being thirty, even forty feet high.

“Have we got to climb those?” said Saxe, in dismay.

The guide shook his head.

“No, herr: it would be madness to try. Some of them would give way at the least touch. Stand back a little, and I’ll show you why it is dangerous to climb among the seracs.”

He stepped aside, and, using his axe, deftly chipped off a piece of ice from a block—a fragment about as large as an ordinary paving-stone.

“Hold my axe, sir,” he said; and on Saxe taking it, the man picked up the block he had chipped off, walked a little way from them, and, after looking about a little, signed to them to watch, as he hurled the lump from him, after raising it above his head. As he threw it, he ran back toward them, and the piece fell with a crash between two spires which projected from the icy barrier.

There was a crash, and then the effect was startling. Both the spires, whose bases must have been worn nearly through by the action of sun and water, came down with a roar, bringing other fragments with them, and leaving more looking as if they were tottering to their fall.

Then up rose what seemed to be a cloud of diamond dust, glittering in the bright sunshine, a faint echo or two came from high up the rocky face of the valley, and then all was silent once more.

“You see?” said Melchior. “Why, often a touch of a hand, or even a shout, will bring them tumbling down. Always keep away from the seracs.”

He led them now at a safe distance across the glacier to the left, till a wide opening presented itself, through which they passed on to comparatively smooth ice; but even this was all piled together, wedged in blocks,