Harry, at my side, was crying like a child, with great tears
streaming down his face, as together we staggered forth from the
mouth of the passage into the bright and dazzling sunshine of the
Andes.
Chapter XXIV.
CONCLUSION.
Never, I believe, were misery and joy so curiously mingled in the
human breast as when Harry and I stood--barely able to
stand--gazing speechlessly at the world that had so long been
hidden from us.
We had found the light, but had lost Desiree. We were alive, but
so near to death that our first breath of the mountain air was
like to be our last.
The details of our painful journey down the mountain, over the
rocks and crags, and through rushing torrents that more than once
swept us from our feet, cannot be written, for I do not know
them.
The memory of the thing is but an indistinct nightmare of
suffering. But the blind luck that seemed to have fallen over our
shoulders as a protecting mantle at the death of Desiree stayed
with us; and after endless hours of incredible toil and labor, we
came to a narrow pass leading at right angles to our course.
Night was ready to fall over the bleak and barren mountain as we
entered it.
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