This side was rugged, and so precipitous that it would be impossible for any one to gain a foothold upon it from a boat, much less from the water; all of which Wolfe noticed with a feeling of despair. As he examined the frigid mass above him more closely he noticed that, near its top, there seemed to be several platforms or terraces, and he determined to pull back to the landing-place and climb up and examine them. Rowing slowly around the other end of the berg, and scanning every foot of its surface in the vague hope of discovering something, he finally came again to the place where Breeze had left him. Here, with a heavy heart, he made his preparations to follow the course his friend had taken. Hauling the dory partially out of the water, so that there would be less danger of its being crushed by floating cakes, he jammed its anchor into a crack of the ice and pulled the anchor rope taut. Then, taking advantage of the occasional holes Breeze had cut in the ice with his hatchet, he began to climb towards the summit of the ridge. When at last he reached it he dreaded to look around him; for this was his last hope, and if he should see nothing of his dorymate from here, he felt that he must indeed give him up for lost. At length he forced himself to gaze, slowly and carefully, in every direction about him. There was only the ice, the water, the sunset sky, and, sharply outlined against it, the _Vixen_, standing off and on beyond the floe, waiting for them. Waiting for _them_, and he must return to her alone. This thought broke him down completely, and he groaned aloud in his distress. He knew now how strong a hold his sunny-faced young dorymate had gained upon his affections, and feeling that he had gone from his life forever, the whole world seemed as lonely and dreary and cold as the scene around him. In his misery he called out, “Breeze! oh, Breeze! come back to me.” “Well, I’m coming as fast as I can,” answered a muffled voice so close to him that he started in affright, and came very near rolling down the incline he had just ascended. He trembled so that he could hardly speak; but he finally managed to call out, “Is that really you, Breeze? And where are you?” for, as yet, he could neither see his friend nor locate the spot from which his voice had come. “Of course it’s me,” answered the voice, “and I’m down here in a hole with poor Hank. I wish you’d fetch the rope and throw one end of it down to me, for it’s mighty slow work cutting these steps, and I could get up by it a good deal quicker. We’ll want it for Hank, anyhow, because he’s hurt and can’t climb.”