"Here, Chick, come and
warm me. Well, Armie, why ain't you off?"
"Yes," said Armine, with a quiver in his voice, "if I keep down by
the side of the glacier, I suppose I must come to the Daubensee in
time."
"What! Have we lost the way?" said Jock, beginning to look alarmed.
"There's no doubt of that," said Armine, "and what's worse, that fog
is coming up; but I've got my little compass here, and if I keep to
the south-west, and down, I must strike the lake somewhere. Goodbye,
Jock."
He looked white and braced up for the effort. Jock caught hold of
him. "Don't leave me, Armie," he said; "you can't-—you'll fall into
one of those crevasses."
"You'd better let me go before the fog gets worse," said Armine.
"I say you can't; it's not fit for a little chap like you. If you
fell it would be ever so much worse for us both."
"I know! But it is the less risk," said Armine, gravely.
"I tell you, Armie, I can't have you go. Mother will send out for
us, and we can make no end of a row together. There's a much better
chance that way than alone. Don't go, I say—-"
"I was only looking out beyond the rock. I don't think it would be
possible to get on now. I can't see even the ridge of stones we
climbed over."
"I wish it was I," said Jock, "I'll be bound I could manage it!"
Then impatiently—-"Something must be done, you know, Armie.
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