80 THE MONK. 



few minutes the power of the hurricane seemed partly exhausted, 

 hut the snow fell fast as ever. 



Stierry was by my side : " We must move from this place at all 

 risks," he said, '^ or our bed will be a cold one, and our sleep long.'* 

 " Which way lies the road ?" I inquired. " I must endeavour," he 

 replied, " to discover it ; it is marked by wood posts, put down at 

 intervals ; and if I can find one of these we may perhaps reach 

 better quarters." He spoke with a calm decision and presence of 

 mind, that were well calculated to inspire hope and confidence. 

 " Hold fast the end of this cord," he continued, " when I call to you 

 to follow it, join me." Then, attaching the other end to his own 

 arm, he went to such a distance as the length of the line (which 

 was considerable) would allow, and described a circuit. By these 

 means the cord was brought in contact with the desired object. 

 We soon heard the signal, and with the assistance of our clue we 

 readily gained the spot w^liere he stood, which was marked by one 

 of the guide-posts before mentioned. He now advanced, as before, 

 to the next post, and we followed, when the word was given, in 

 like manner. We pressed on for some time, alternately halting 

 and proceeding on our way, as our intrepid conductor ascertained 

 the safety of the ground ; and we had begun to entertain great 

 hopes of extricating ourselves ; but these hopes were soon doomed 

 to be crushed. After waiting a much longer time than usual with- 

 out receiving the signal, I became alarmed. Stierry returned, and 

 said he had sought in vain for the next mark to direct our path, and 

 '• to proceed," he continued, " without knowing it, were but to 

 court our fate." ^' Would it not be practicable," I asked, " to return 

 and take shelter in the chalet we passed ?" " No," he replied, " I 

 might be enabled to retrace my steps, but for yoii it would be impos- 

 sible." " Then go," I exclaimed, " why sacrifice more lives than 

 are required ?" " Because," he replied, " I would rather die than 

 desert my trust. It shall never be said that Henry Stierry forsook, 

 in the hour of peril and adversity, those he was bound to assist, and 

 would have followed through sunshine and prosperity. If I cannot 

 change your lot, I can at least share it. Nothing now remains qut 

 for us to draw close together, and endeavour to keep out this intense 

 cold." I could not but admire, and be deeply affected with, his at- 

 tachment and fidelity, and saw it was vain to urge him farther. 



Whilst he spoke, 1 felt the blood which had been warmed by the 

 exertion and interest of our perilous circumstances, flow back with 

 icy chillness to the heart ; and a full consciousness of our utterly 

 hopeless condition, for the first time, came upon me. We obeyed 



