He told himself, I was not helped. Only guided. I could have died. No one protected me.
And now I understand.
He left the cave and climbed, sure-footed, to a higher plateau. Here there was no snow. Only wind-swept rock and meager soil. He walked until he came to his destination.
It was another hut; this one of sod and rock to stand against the wind and the cold. A man sat in the doorway, swathed in furs. His skin was dark from the weather, but it was impossible to call him either old or young.
Lee did not even dwell on these points. He only knew—from his new perception, from the new mysticism he had earned with his suffering—that the hut and the man would be there; that no chance had brought him; that all had been arranged as surely as sunrise.
He stood before the man and raised his eyes. "The mountains are high."
"The mountains are always high. No man ever reaches the summit of his mountain."
"I know that now."
"Nor even a cave halfway up the mountain's side."
"That I know too. I also know—"