There was nothing mysterious in the disappearance of the cord. The kite
was no longer visible on the summit of the cliff. The wind had carried
it away; and, of course, its rope along with it.
When the first moment of surprise had passed, our adventurers turned
towards each other with glances that spoke something more than
disappointment. Notwithstanding the number of times that the kite had
failed to fix itself, still it had once taken a fast hold, and it was
but reasonable to suppose it would have done so again. Besides, there
were other places where the precipice was as low, and even lower, than
where they had made the trials; and at some of these they might have
been more successful. Indeed, there was every probability that, had
they not lost that kite, they would have been able in due time to have
climbed out of their rock-bound prison by a ladder of rope; but now all
chance of doing so was gone for ever--swept off by a single puff of
wind.
You may be fancying, that the misfortune was not irremediable. Another
kite, you will be saying, might be constructed out of similar materials
as those used in making the one carried away. But to say this, would be
to speak without a full knowledge of the circumstances.
The same thought had already passed through the minds of our
adventurers, when they perceived that the kite they were flying was
getting torn and otherwise damaged.
"We can easily make another," suggested Caspar at that crisis.
"No, brother," was the answer of Karl; "never another, I fear. We have
paper enough left to patch this one; but not enough to make another."
"But we can make more paper, can we not?" urged Caspar, interrogatively.
"Ah!" again replied Karl, with a negative shake of the head, "no more--
not another sheet!"
"But why? Do you think there are no more daphne trees?"
"I think there are not. You remember we stripped all there were in the
thicket; and since then, thinking we might need more bark, I have gone
all through the valley, and explored it in every direction, without
meeting with a single shrub of the daphne. I am almost certain there
are none."
This conversation between the brothers had occurred, long before the
losing of the kite. When that event came to pass, it was not necessary
for them to repeat it; and, both being thus acquainted with the fact
that it was impossible for them to construct another, they felt that
they had sustained an irreparable loss.
In what direction had the kite been carried off? Might it not be blown
along the line of cliffs, and tossed back again into the valley?
As there appeared some probability that such a chance might arise, all
three ran outward from the rocks--in order to command a better view of
the precipice, on each side.
For a long time they stood watching--in hopes that they might see the
great paper-bird returning to the scene of its nativity. But it never
came back; and they became at length convinced, that it never would.
Indeed, the direction of the wind--when they paused to consider it--
rendered the thing not only improbable, but impossible. It was blowing
_from_ the cliffs, and _towards_ the snowy ridge. No doubt the kite had
been carried up the sloping acclivity; and had either passed clear over
the mountains, or become lodged in some deep defile, where the wind
could no longer reach it. At all events, it was certain, that both kite
and cord were lost to them for ever.
"Ach! how very unfortunate!" exclaimed Caspar, in a vexed tone, when
they had finally arrived at this conviction. "What ill-starred luck we
have, to be sure!"
"Nay! brother," remarked Karl, in a tone of reproval; "do not chide
Fortune for what has happened just now. I acknowledge it is a great
misfortune; but it is one for which we may justly blame ourselves, and
only ourselves. By sheer negligence we have lost the kite, and along
with it, perhaps, the last chance of regaining our liberty."
"Yes, you speak truly," rejoined Caspar, in a tone of mingled regret and
resignation. "It _was_ our fault, and we must suffer for it."
"But are you quite sure, brother Karl," resumed he, after a pause, and
referring to the conversation that had already passed between them--"are
you quite sure there are no more of these paper-bearing trees?"
"Of course," replied the plant-hunter, "I am not positive--though I fear
it is as I have said--that there are no more. It will be easy for us to
determine the point, by making a complete exploration of the valley. It
may be that something else might turn up which would answer the purpose
equally as well. There is a birch-tree indigenous to the Himalaya
mountains, found both in Nepaul and Thibet. Its bark can be stripped
off in broad flakes and layers, to the number of eight or ten--each
almost as thin as common paper, and suitable for many purposes to which
paper is usually applied."
"Do you think it would do for a kite?" inquired Caspar, without waiting
for Karl to finish his explanation.
"I am sure of it," replied the botanist. "It would serve even better
than the daphne paper; and had I believed there was a chance of finding
it here, I should have preferred it to that. But I do not think we
shall find it. I have observed no species of birch; and I know that
this one, like most of the _Betulaceae_, affects a much colder climate
than there is in this valley. Likely enough, it grows on the mountains
above; but there it is out of our reach. Could we reach it there, we
should not need to be robbing it of its manifold envelope. But let us
not despair," added Karl, endeavouring to appear cheerful; "perhaps it
may be found growing down here; or, if not, we may still find another
grove of the daphne trees. Let us proceed on and search!"
Karl was far from being sanguine in either conjecture; and it was as
well for him that he was not: for after a minute and careful exploration
of the valley--which occupied nearly three whole days--neither the
wished-for birch, nor the desired daphne trees--nor any other material
out of which a kite might be manufactured--rewarded their search.
It was of no use, therefore, to think any longer of a kite; and the
subject was at length dismissed from their minds.