The wind rose again and swept over the plain with a shriek and a howl. Columns and cones of snow were whirled past them and over them; wind and snow together made it harder for them to keep their feet.
"If we don't find that hollow soon, we won't need it," said Harley.
She was very close to him, and when she looked up he could see a smile on her face.
"Death is not terrible," she said.
"Not with you."
The shriek of the wind had now become a moan like the moan of a desolate world. They came to two or three dwarfed trees growing close to one an other, but they gave no shelter, and, Harley being in dread lest branches should be blown off and against Sylvia, they went on.
"What will they think has become of us?" said Sylvia.
But the only thought it brought into Harley's mind at that moment was the interruption it would cause to the campaign. He was sorry for Jimmy Grayson. He felt that the girl's step was growing less steady. Obviously she was becoming weaker.
"Lean against me," he said; "I am strong enough for both."