lead our
horses by the bridle.

"There she is, turning to the right," said Sperver. "In this direction
the mountains are craggy; perhaps one of us will have to lead both horses
while the other climbs to look after the trail. But don't you think the
light is going?"

The landscape now was assuming an aspect of grandeur and magnificence.
Vast grey rocks, sparkling with long icicles, raised here and there their
sharp peaks like breakers amidst a snowy sea.

There is nothing more sadly impressive than the aspect of winter in a
mountainous region. The jagged crests of the precipices, the deep, dark
ravines, the woods sparkling with boar-frost like diamonds, all form a
picture of desertion, desolation, and unspeakable melancholy. The silence
is so profound that you hear a dead leaf rustling on the snow, or the
needle of the fir dropping to the ground. Such a silence is oppressive as
the tomb; it urges on the mind the idea of man's nothingness in the
vastness of creation.

How frail a being is man! Two winters together, without a summer between,
would sweep him off the earth!

At times we felt it a necessity to be saying something if only to show
that we were keeping up our spirits.

"Ah, we are getting on! How fearfully cold! Lieverle, what is the matter?
what have you found now?"

Unfortunately Fox and Rappel were beginning to tire; they sank deeper in
the snow and no longer neighed joyfully.

And added to this the endless mazes of the Black Forest wearied us too.
The old woman affected this solitary region greatly; here she had trotted
round a deserted charcoal-burner's hut; farther on she had torn out the
roots that projected from a moss-grown rock; there she had sat at the
foot of a tree, and that very recently--not more than two hours since,
for the track was quite fresh--and our hope and our ardour rose together.
But the daylight was slowly fading away!

Very strangely, ever since our departure from Nideck we had met neither
wood-cutters, nor charcoal-burners, nor timber-carriers. At this season
the silence and solitude of the Black Forest is as deep as that of the
North-American steppes.

At five o'clock it was almost dark. Sperver halted and said--

"Fritz, my lad, we have started a couple of hours too late. The she-wolf
has had too long a start. In ten minutes it will be as dark as a dungeon.
The best way would be to reach Roche Creuse, which is twenty minutes'
ride from here, light a good fire, and eat