Seen from below, it looked like a bare wall of rock, seamed indeed with cracks and chimneys, but little less than perpendicular. Tiny patches of whiteness lay wherever it had been able to find a resting-place. For the greater part, however, the angle was too steep for snow to lie; and, as regarded the question of climbing, in mountain parlance "it would not go." A climber's only hope lay in the narrow snow-lined couloirs streaking it, one of which seemed to offer good promise for foothold and handhold. It was a more awkward "pitch" than Pressford had expected. And, to make matters worse, the rocks were partially glazed with that terror of mountaineers, the dangerous verglas, a thin veneer of ice. Wherever this delicate coating shone, foothold was impossible. From their position below a small bergshrund, choked with snow, the two men took an anxious survey of the rocks, which indeed wore a menacing aspect enough, especially for a tyro. Doris stood by in acute suspense; for she realised that one word now might dash all her hopes to the ground. And to give up—to turn back—having advanced so far, would be too dreadful! She read doubt in their faces; and imploring words leaped to her lips. Wisely, she held them back, though her face was eloquent. Maurice glanced at his companion, and murmured something. Pressford put off immediate decision, by suggesting another meal. The narrow snow-plateau, from which that rocky wall uprose, made an ideal breakfast-table, spread with the purest of snowy cloths. "I may go on!" Doris breathed, as Maurice came near. "We'll see—presently." He threw down the rück-sack, emptied of its contents, and offered it to her for a seat. For himself he planted his ice-axe deep in the snow,—a narrow support, which called for careful balancing on his part. Pressford had unroped and gone off a short distance to reconnoitre; and on his return he beckoned Maurice aside. "She can do it," he said. "I see how it will 'go.'" "But the verglas—" "Only in patches. They can be avoided." "Shall we start now?" called Doris eagerly. "Finish the sandwiches first. We shall have no other chance for some time. I'll scramble up a bit, and have one more look. Then—en avant!" Still free of the rope, he moved some paces away, munching chocolate, and scanning the rocks which frowned grimly above. Maurice came back to his seat by Doris. They had the world to themselves. Pressford, always aloof and preoccupied, hardly counted. From their very feet the snow-slope fell away. Behind rose the stern rock-rampart, calling to be climbed. But their eyes were turned to the wide sweep of mountain pastures far below, and downward thence to valleys shepherding cloudlets of morning mist. Like birds they were perched aloft; away from common life; cut off from human habitations.