Pressford stood up, a sign that they were to do the same. The rocky belt which had now to be surmounted meant a good two hours of work, difficult ax first in the morning twilight, though each minute made a difference with the growth of light. Doris had to pay careful attention to her steps; and Maurice, close behind, gave an occasional hint, when needed. A halt again was ordered, that they might watch the coming sunrise. It was Doris's first view of their widened horizon. She stood on a ledge; Maurice one step lower; Pressford a pace above. The cold was biting. A slight breeze, like liquid ice, crept past; and despite her exertions, she could scarcely feel her fingers. Beyond the rock-belt, looking downward, they saw the long ascent of grass by which they had come; and lower still the dark pine-forest. Then intersecting valleys, dotted with hay-châlets; and here and there a tiny village, deep in shadow. But far above towered lofty peaks, bearing a hint of rose; and the soft colour grew bright; and the tide of light crept downward, revealing couloir after couloir, fold after fold, upon each mountain-side,—till, from beyond the peak which still hid the approaching monarch of day, streamed on either side slant rays of pure whiteness. One moment the three were in shadow. Then, with a leap, sunshine burst forth, not white but golden; and the world around was transformed. Doris pulled off her woollen gloves, and held out chilled hands, bathing them in the flood of warmth, laughing with gladness. "That was worth seeing," Maurice remarked, as their silent leader moved. "Are you getting on all right?" "It's too lovely for anything," she said with energy. "I never enjoyed myself one-hundredth part as much in all my life." Two hours of this rock-climbing brought them to the foot of a snow-slope, which formed the "shoulder" of the mountain. Far away upward from where they stood stretched a smooth sheet of sparkling purity. "Now we shall be above the snow-line," joyously exclaimed Doris. "I've been longing for that, ever since I came to Switzerland." "Which means—goggles." "Must we? That beautiful snow! And the goggles will spoil it all so desperately. Must we, really? But of course, if I'm told—" "I'm afraid it has to be." Again they paused for a light meal. Pressford decided that roping was advisable, the slope higher up being steep, and Doris's experience small. When they set off, he as usual led; and Maurice, with his ruck-sack, came last. The snow was in good condition, and they made steady advance, though some scraping of steps with Pressford's ice-axe became needful before the end. An hour of zig-zagging progress up this slope brought them to the final rocks. CHAPTER XIX A Rotten Piece of Rock THE belt which they had reached was both higher and more formidable than the one already surmounted; a stern and frowning rampart, giving access to the short arête by which they would gain the summit.