There was a sort of grave fascination in the exceeding sternness of
the scene-—the grey heaps of stone, the mountains raising their
shining white summits against the blue, the dark, fathomless,
lifeless lake, and the utter absence of all forms of life. Armine's
spirit fell under the spell, and he moved dreamily on, hardly
attending to Jock, who was running on with Chico, and alarming him by
feints of catching him and throwing him into the water.
They came to the gap where they expected to look over the pass, but
it was blotted out by a mist, not in itself visible though hiding
everything, and they were turning to go home when, in the ravine near
at hand, the white ruggedness of the Wildstrube glacier gleamed on
their eyes.
"I didn't know it was so near," said Jock. "Come and have a look at
it."
"Not on it," said Armine, who had somewhat more Swiss experience than
his brother. "There's no going there without a guide."
"There's no reason we should not get on the moraine," said Jock ; and
they presently began to scramble about among the rocks and boulders,
trying to mount some larger one whence they might get a more general
view of the form of the glacier. Chico ran on before them,
stimulated by some reminiscence of the rabbit-holes of Belforest, and
they were looking after him and whistling him back; Armine heard a
sudden cry and fall-—Jock had disappeared.
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