He made no sign.

Her doubt turned to sudden, overmastering fear that pricked her
forward in spite of herself.

"Nick!" she said again, and finding herself close to him she bent and
very slightly touched his shoulder.

He moved then, and she almost gasped with relief. He turned his head
sharply without raising himself, and she saw the grim lines of his
lean cheek and jaw.

"That you, Muriel?" he said, speaking haltingly, spasmodically. "I'm
awfully sorry. Fact is--I'm not well. I shall be--better--directly. Go
back, won't you?"

He broke off, and lay silent, his hands clenched as if he were in
pain.

Muriel stood looking down at him in consternation. It was her chance
to escape--a chance that might never occur again--but she had no
further thought of taking it.

"What is it?" she asked him timidly, "Can I--do anything?"

And then she suddenly saw what was the matter. It burst upon her--a
startling revelation. Possibly the sight of those skeleton fists
helped her to enlightenment. She turned swiftly and sped back to their
camping ground.