something, monsieur--I, who am lonely too, and an old man besides, so
that I cannot mend my loneliness, I tell you--it is something that there
is a young girl down there with a sweet and gentle face who is sorry for
you, who perhaps is looking up from among those lights to where we stand
in the darkness at this moment."

But it seemed that Chayne did not hear, or, if he heard, that he paid no
heed. And Michel, knocking the tobacco from his pipe, said:

"You will do well to sleep. We may have a long day before us"; and he
walked away to the guides' quarters.

But Chayne could not sleep; hope and doubt fought too strongly within
him, wrestling for the life of his friend. At twelve o'clock Michel
knocked upon his door. Chayne got up from his bed at once, drew on his
boots, and breakfasted. At half past the rescue party set out, following
a rough path through a wilderness of boulders by the light of a lantern.
It was still dark when they came to the edge of the glacier, and they sat
down and waited. In a little while the sky broke in the East, a twilight
dimly revealed the hills, Michel blew out the lantern, the blurred
figures of the guides took shape and outline, and silently the morning
dawned upon the world.

The guides moved on to the glacier and spread over it, ascending as
they searched.

"You see, monsieur, there is very little snow this year," said
Michel, chipping steps so that he and Chayne might round the corner
of a wide crevasse.