On our wanderings round this mighty and stubborn rock tower we seemed to be lightened of all earthly burdens high up there in the solitude above the depths of humanity. We climbed up to the Ceredo tower. The rocks were as sharp as knives. Again the ghostly mist rose from the valleys and whirled spectrally around us. It was 5 o’clock and the Cares valley with Cain to where our steps were directed were not yet in sight.--I asked my companion: “How far yet?" “A few hours more" was the not very consoling reply.--The mist, that enemy of mountaineers was getting thicker. And ere long we could not see twenty paces ahead. The feeling of insecurity grew apace. And the sensation of climbing with mist-bound eyes was terrible. Again I questioned my guide. “Severo, is there no hut or shelter on the way?"--“I don’t think so." Once more long minutes of silent groping. At last we were, at any rate for a while, rid of the stony region. Here and there a rocky projection, but it was quite impossible to tell if we were not suspended on it hundreds of meters over a yawning abyss. It was impossible to see anything through that fog. And at a quarter past six it was pitch dark. Suddenly we came across a few low rough huts of unhewn stone huts sheltered by a rock-wall. There at last we could spend the night. But my guide wanted to go on. “Stop!" I cried. “Can we get to Cain to night?"--“I don’t know." “Well then we’ll stay here!" Suiting the action to the word, we crept into one of the huts, crouched down, and slept fitfully through ten endless hours of night. But even they passed. The morning meant a dangerous and nasty descent. We waded knee-deep in wet grass, clambered over ledges with fog all around us. Woe to us had we slipped! Then we got lost and had to stop and climb back with the greatest care. Then we slid down a stony gully in which nearly every step set rocks thundering to the depths below.