"I will kill them," he shouted in anger.

"Please don't. There has been enough of death in this place already."

The words jarred on his ears. Then he felt that she could only allude
to the victims of the wreck.

"I was going to say," she explained, "that we must devise a partition.
There is no help for it until you construct a sort of house. Candidly,
I do not like this hole in the rock. It is a vault, a tomb."

"You told me that I was in command, yet you dispute my orders." He
strove hard to appear brusquely good-humored, indifferent, though for
one of his mould he was absurdly irritable. The cause was over-strain,
but that explanation escaped him.

"Quite true. But if sleeping in the cold, in dew or rain, is bad for
me, it must be equally bad for you. And without you I am helpless, you
know."

His arms twitched to give her a reassuring hug. In some respects she
was so childlike; her big blue eyes were so ingenuous. He laughed
sardonically, and the harsh note clashed with her frank candor. Here,
at least, she was utterly deceived. His changeful moods were
incomprehensible.

"I will serve you to the best of my ability, Miss Deane," he exclaimed.
"We must hope for a speedy rescue, and I am inured to exposure. It is
otherwise with you. Are you ready for the climb?"