The thought of Eustace came again to her. He would be one of the
search-party. She pictured him forcing his way upwards, all his
magnificent strength bent to the work. Her heart throbbed at the memory
of that all-conquering presence--the arms that had held her, the lips
that had pressed her own. And he had stooped to plead with her also. She
would always remember that of him with a thrill of ecstasy. He the
princely and splendid--Apollo the magnificent!

Always? A sudden chill smote her heart numbing her through and through.
Always? And Death waiting on the threshold to snatch her away from the
wonderful joy she had only just begun to know! Always! Ah, would she
remember even to-morrow--even to-morrow? And he--would he not forget?

Isabel stirred in her arms and murmured an inarticulate complaint.
Tenderly she drew her closer. How cold it was! How cruelly, how bitingly
cold! All her bones were beginning to ache. A dreadful stiffness was
creeping over her. How long would her senses hold out, she wondered
piteously? How long? How long?

It must be hours now since they had entered that freezing place, and with
every minute it seemed to be growing colder. Never in her life had she
imagined anything so searching, so agonizing, as this cold. It held her
in an iron rigour against which she was powerless to struggle. The
strength to clasp Isabel in her arms was leaving her. She thought that
her numbed limbs were gradually turning to stone. Even her lips were so
numbed with cold that she could not move them. The steam of her breath
had turned to ice upon the wool of her coat.

The need for prayer came upon her suddenly as she realized that her
faculties were failing. Her belief in God was of that dim and far-off