He was afraid, but he tried to tell himself this was a victory, that The Threat was leaving them; and he pointed it out to Anne. In his dream, he thought she looked up to him, and he saw pity in her eyes, and so he was more afraid than before.
He watched the cloudy thing more closely; and presently he saw that it was drifting toward them. So he caught Anne’s hand, and hurried her forward. She ran with him, as though to humor him; and she was speaking comfortingly to him as they ran.
The Cloud moved swiftly closer till it touched Anne. And her steps faltered. He could no longer persuade her to run. He could only throw his arms about her; and in his dream he shouted defiance at The Threat.
Then he pleaded with it....
Anne was being drawn from his arms. It was not that she was torn away; it was just that he could no longer hold her. The solid substance of her, to which he clung, melted in his arms. He tore off his coat and wrapped it about her, but still she slipped away like sand through the fingers.
He begged; and her face came toward him, and her lips touched his. Her fingers rested for an instant on his eyelids.
When they were lifted, and he opened his eyes again, Anne was gone.
He threw himself toward the brink of that precipice to follow her; but the chasm had disappeared. Where it had been, there was only a sweet meadow, mockingly beautiful in the sun.
He looked about him. All the world was beautiful as ice.