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CHAPTEE XXIII. 



MIST ON THE MOUNTAIN. 



I AWOKE early the next morning, and groping my way 

 clambered down the ladder. It was three o'clock, and 

 as dark as pitch ; and the gusts of cold damp air carne 

 creeping round my bare knees, which just before had 

 been imbedded so warmly. Outside there was a 

 drizzling rain, and mist, and impenetrable blackness ; 

 in short, to tell the honest truth, it looked miserably 

 wretched. With such weather there was little pro- 

 spect of success, and with I don't know if it was a 

 sigh, a groan, or a growl of discontent I drew back 

 my gloomy face, and went into the room to lace on 

 my shoes. This done we took our rifles and started. 



Most persons, doubtless, have walked out in a dark 

 night ; but if they have only done so on a tolerably 

 smooth road, they will have but an imperfect notion 

 of the unpleasantness attending every single step 

 when the path is strewn with large stones, loose frag- 

 ments of rock, broken up into holes or intersected by 



