When day came he strengthened himself with food and went out to see if there was not a frozen bridge to the isle. No; only a place where over the shallows of lava there were formed little, shifting, flake-like spots of ice.
Then Regan brought the great sledges and for three days he ceased not to throw cargoes of snow into the sea where the waves were so shallow. Not pausing for night, as if to save a lost soul, he worked for three terrible days, and he had almost bridged the short way.
One sledgeful fell. It struck on the invisible wall and rolled into the waves.
“I will not be stopped!” shrieked Regan.
With all his power he struck the wall; he threw himself against it, he cast ice at it.
He went back to the house, took another drink of the stimulant, returned with a heavy sledgehammer which three bird men could not swing. With this he struck the wall, that wall which could not be seen. The concussion knocked the hammer from his hand; the shock threw Regan into the snow.
The wall remained.
Like Rondah, he called the name of the one whom he loved. A new horror came upon him—he was going to sleep!
“My God, not this!” he cried when he saw it was sleep and not weariness. “My God, not this and Rondah still lost! Mercy! mercy!”
He dashed ice-cold water on his face. He deluged his head and hands with snow. He again roused himself with draughts of the powerful stimulant and rushed back to the wall. He was sure that she was there.