we gazed in silence we saw the whole lip of the curved wave break and plunge downwards, the roar reaching our waiting ears like artillery. It is always so strange when you see the actual avalanche shoot down, to hear it only when it has practically been turned to powder.
I was so fascinated by this sight that Mr. Macpherson, growing impatient, went on ahead to search for the Ice-caves. We followed him up a brawling torrent, over terraces of stones and tumbled fragments of the hills, till we came to a cleft where the rocks rose in two huge slabs, and wedged between them in a ravine was a mass of ice. From a magnificent archway in its face, large enough for three coaches to drive in abreast, the torrent gushed forth. The archway must have been quite forty feet high, its roof within curiously wrought as though kneaded by gigantic knuckles, and hung all over with big drops that fell incessantly—but in winter time these must be icicles. Looking into its vasty depths, one saw it bend round in a curve where the dim light gave way to almost utter blackness. We ventured in, stepping from stone to stone, balancing with fingers touching those strange ice-walls. On down this weird tunnel, till a light ahead and a deafening roar told us we were within sight of where the waterfall pours into a great black hole it has bored right through the ice. We could go no farther—water filled all the space from wall to wall, and there were no stepping-stones to be seen in the dim light. Deadly
