He rose and helped her to her feet, then after another pause, turned toward the wall of rocks behind them.
“Do you think you can make it? It’s a difficult climb.”
“Yes. I’ve that much left in me. You lead the way and I’ll follow.” Her teeth were chattering.
As he touched her sleeve he found it soaked with moisture.
“Poor child. You’re nearly frozen.” He had not been conscious of the occasional spatter of rain, for his leather jacket had kept him dry. “But I’ll have you warm and snug before you can say knife.”
And when she questioned, “A fire——” he replied, “Isn’t that what one uses to get warm with?”
“But here—tonight——?”
“Oh, don’t bother. You’ll see.”
They were climbing up the face of the slippery rocks, Hammersley pausing from time to time to let her rest, pulling her from above when he reached the ledges, and at last they came out into the amphitheater of bowlders from which he had descended.
She was almost too weary for comment and followed blindly as he led her to the wall of the rock where he seemed to disappear in its very face. She followed him inside a dark opening and when they were well within he relinquished her hand and struck a match. A brief glimpse she had of a small chamber in the cliff not twenty feet square when the match went out. He struck another and shading it with his hand went forward. She saw him find what he was looking for and in a moment a candle, after faintly sputtering for a moment, sent forth a steady glow of light.