Sometimes she fancied that the sound of voices came muffled through the fog that hung impenetrably upon the great slope. And when this fancy caught her, her spirit drifted back very swiftly to the near neighbourhood of that inert and frozen body that lay so helpless in the dark. For that strange freedom of the spirit seemed to her to be highly dangerous and in a fashion wrong. It would be a terrible thing if they found and buried the body, and the spirit were left alone to wander for ever homeless on that desolate mountain-side. She could not imagine a fate more awful.
At the same time, being free from the body, she knew no physical pain, and she shrank from returning before she need, knowing well the anguish of suffering that awaited her. The desolation and loneliness made her unhappy in a vague and not very comprehensible fashion, but she did not suffer actively. That would come later when return became imperative. Till then she flitted to and fro, intangible as gossamer, elusive as the snow. She wondered what Apollo would say if he could see her thus. Even he would fail to catch her now. She pictured the strong arms closing upon her, and clasping—emptiness. That thought made her a little cold, and sent her floating back to make sure that the lifeless body was still there.
And as she went, drifting through the silence, there came to her the thought that Scott would be unutterably shocked if they brought her back to him dead. It was strange how the memory of him haunted her that night. It almost seemed as if his spirit were out there in the great waste, seeking hers.
She reached the shelter and entered, borne upon snowflakes. Yes, the body was still there. She hovered over it like a bird over its nest. For Scott's sake, should she not return?
And then very suddenly there came a great sound close to her—the loud barking of a dog;—and in a second—in less—she had returned.
A long, long shiver went through the poor frozen thing that was herself, and she knew that she moaned as one awaking….
Vaguely, through dulled senses, she heard the great barking yet again, and something immense that was furry and soft brushed against her. She heard the panting of a large animal close to her in the hut, and very feebly she put out a hand.
She did not like that loud baying. It went through and through her brain. She was not frightened, only dreadfully tired. And now that she was back again in the body, she longed unspeakably to sleep.
But the noise continued, a perfect clamour of sound; and soon there came other sounds, the shouting of men, the muffled tread of feet sorely hampered by snow. A dim light began to shine, and gradually increased till it became a single, piercing eye that swept searchingly around the wretched shelter. An arc of fog surrounded it, obscuring all besides.
Dinah gazed wide-eyed at that dazzling arc, wondering numbly, whence it came. It drew nearer to her. Its brightness became intolerable. She tried to shut her eyes, but the lids felt too stiff to move. Again, more feebly, she moved her hand. It would be terrible if they thought her dead, especially after all the trouble she had taken to return.