Isabel seemed to have sunk into a state of semi-consciousness, and only now and then did broken words escape her—words scarcely audible to Dinah, but which testified none the less to the bitterness of despair that had come upon her.
She sat in a corner of the desolate place with Dinah pressed close to her, while the snow drifted in through the door-less entrance and sprinkled them both. But it was the darkness rather than the cold or the snow that affected the girl as she crouched there with her arms about her companion, striving to warm and shelter her while she herself felt frozen to the very heart. It was so terrible, so monstrous, so nerve-shattering. And the silence that went with it was like a nightmare horror to her shrinking soul. For all Dinah's sensibilities were painfully on the alert. No merciful dulness of perception came to her. Responsibility had awakened in her a nervous energy that made her realize the awfulness of their position with appalling vividness. That they could possibly survive the night she did not believe. And Death—Death in that fearful darkness—was a terror from which she shrank almost in panic.
That she retained command of her quivering nerves was due solely to the fact of Isabel's helplessness—Isabel's dependence upon her. She knew that while she had any strength left, she must not give way. She must be brave. Their sole chance of rescue hung upon that.
Like Scott, she thought of the guide, though the hope was a forlorn one. He might know of this shelter; but whether in the awful darkness he would ever be able to find it she strongly doubted. Their absence must have been discovered long since, she was sure; and Scott—Scott would be certain to think of the mountain path. He would remember his sister's wild words of the day before, and he would know that she, Dinah, had had no choice but to accompany her upon the mad quest. It comforted her to think that Scott would understand, and was already at work to help them. If by any means deliverance could be brought to them she knew that Scott would compass it. His quiet and capable spirit was accustomed to grapple with difficulties, and the enormity of a task would never dismay him. He had probably organized a search-party long ere this. He would not rest until he had done his very utmost. She wondered if he would come himself to look for them; but discarded the idea as unlikely. His infirmity made progress on the mountains a difficult matter at all times, and he would not wish to hamper the movements of the others. That was like Scott, she reflected. He would always keep his own desires in the background, subservient to the needs of others. No, he would not come himself. He would stay behind in torturing inaction while fitter men fared forth.
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 description that brings awe rather than comfort to the soul. The sudden thought of Him came upon her in the darkness like a thunderbolt. In all her life Dinah had never asked for anything outside her daily prayers which were of a strictly formal description. She had shouldered her own troubles unassisted with the philosophy of a disposition that was essentially happy. She had seldom given a serious thought to the life of the spirit. It was all so vague to her, so far removed from the daily round and the daily burden. But now—face to face with the coming night—the spiritual awoke in her. Her soul cried out for comfort.
With Isabel still clasped in her failing arms, she began a desperate prayer for help. Her words came haltingly. They sounded strange to herself. But with all the strength that remained she sent forth her cry to the Infinite. And even as she prayed there came to her—whence she knew not—the conviction that somewhere—probably not more than a couple of miles from her though the darkness made the distance seem immeasurable—Scott was praying too. That thought had a wonderfully comforting effect upon her. His prayer was so much more likely to be answered than hers. He was just the sort of man who would know how to pray.