"Entirely. I could not persuade him to leave me. It would have pretty well settled matters, I suppose, so far as I was concerned; and that was what he felt."
Bee's eyes grew large. "You mean that he—?"
"He had made up his mind that, if I had to spend the night there by myself, I should be frozen before morning."
"But was it—was it—so bad as that?" Her breath grew short.
"I'm not sure that I could have held out, if it hadn't been for him."
"The cold—?" murmured Bee.
"Well, the cold was awful. Sometimes I seemed to be on the verge of slipping out of it all—losing hold of life. And then Rob's voice would rouse me, and I could fight on. But if he hadn't been there—don't you see?"
"Yes, I see." Bee had grown white, but she spoke quietly. "You might have just forgotten yourself, and not—not—"
"Not come to again," ended Ivor. "Yes, that was it. But of course I'd have given anything to make him go. I knew what it must mean, waiting hour after hour on that steep slope, with no shelter of any sort. He's a fine fellow! I wish you knew him better."
"Perhaps I shall some day. His sister is a friend of mine. Yes, he must be—splendid!" So was somebody else, thought Bee, and she did not mind the little glow which had come to her face, for he would only think it was called up by admiration of Mr. Royston. "And then—" she said—"then, I suppose, you saw the guides coming. I mean, Mr. Royston saw them."