At length the blizzard showed signs of abating. The speed of the wind decreased; the flakes of driving snow grew smaller and smaller, till presently they ceased.
The fatigued men were now able to review their position. They were within fifty yards of the open water.
During the storm, the floe had broken away considerably, since they had retired twice that distance a few hours previously. Yet the breaking up of the ice had affected only the immediate locality, for to the right and left the "pack" extended several hundred yards seaward, leaving a vast bay, dotted here and there with pieces of floating ice of varying sizes and shapes.
"Hanged if I can stick this, sir," declared Payne. "I'm off to see what's doing."
Ranworth made no reply. He had heard the seaman's remark, but an indifference owing to complete exhaustion and lack of food and sleep possessed him.
Awkwardly Payne bestirred himself and stood upright. For a brief period he remained gazing in the direction of the south-eastern part of the bay, then, stumbling and slipping, he went out into the piercing cold.
Silence fell upon the rest of the party.
An hour later Leslie yawned and attempted to move. His limbs seemed as heavy as lead. He felt that he must have been dozing. He was not cold. The warmth of his companions' bodies and the mantle of snow which had drifted into their place of shelter, tended to soften the rigours of the Arctic climate.
He had forgotten the horrors of the situation. Comparative comfort, following upon the strenuous fight in the blizzard, had dulled his brain and lulled his mind into a sense of false security. All he wished to do was to fall asleep.
"It's dangerous," he murmured drowsily, "but a few minutes' sleep won't hurt. I'll be right as rain after that."