CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
AN EMPTY LARDER.
Long sat they in this attitude, all three, observing a profound silence.
The air was keenly cold, for it was now mid-winter, but none of them seemed to feel the cold.

The deep disappointment, the bitter chagrin that filled their minds, hindered them from perceiving bodily pain; and at that moment had an avalanche threatened to slide down upon them from the snowy summit above, not one of the three would have much cared to escape out of its way.
So tired had they become of their aerial prison--so terrified by the prospect of its continuing for ever--or at least as long as they might live--they could have contemplated even death without additional terror.
The straw, to which they had so long and so fondly clung, was snatched from their grasp.

Again were they drowning.
For nearly an hour sat they thus, moody and desponding.

The purple-coloured tints, that began to play over the surface of the eternal snows above, admonished them that the sun was far down in the heavens, and that night was approaching.
Karl was the first to become conscious of this--the first to break silence.
"Oh, brothers!" said he, under the impress of their common misfortune including Ossaroo in the fraternal appellation.

"Come away! It is useless to stay longer here.