gave in then, and funked it without disguise. We turned to go
down, to get home. We tried at first to disbelieve it, but it wasn't
long before we both gave up the pretence.

"We're lost!" we cried together.

That was just our position. In the cold, dark night, in the midst of a
rapidly-rising storm and fast-falling snow, we were lost on the wild
Welsh mountains.

We stumbled about. For a long time--I don't know how long, but it was a
long time--we stumbled about. That is the only expression I can use, for
soon we didn't know whether we were moving up or down, left or right. We
were so numbed, so bewildered. It was so cold up there, though October
had not yet set in, that we had a vague idea that if we didn't keep on
moving we should be frozen still, meeting the fate of many other
mountaineers.

You must bear in mind that we had nothing to eat, nothing to drink, and
only our summer clothes on. Neither of us had a watch, so we could only
judge what the time was. Smith's hope that the moon would soon rise
hadn't been realised, for everything above was as dark and black as
everything was beneath.

At last a frightful thing happened. Our feet slipped at the same moment,
and the next moment we were both falling through space. My previous slip
down a precipice was nothing compared with that awful fall in the
darkness. Only one thing saved us. Before we struck the ground, we
managed to break the full force of our fall by grasping the roots and
branches of some low-growing shrubs and bushes which we felt without
seeing. We slipped then less rapidly from hold to hold, until, with a
thud, we struck the earth. It seemed more like the earth striking us.

Smith gave a loud scream of pain--then all was silent.

Smith fainted. I cried. Smith recovered and cried. I left off crying,
and took his turn at fainting. There's nothing like telling the truth.
We both prayed. I won't tell you about that, because praying is a thing
to _do_, not to talk about.

We didn't move about any more. That fall proved that moving about was
too dangerous. Poor old Smith _couldn't_ move. He couldn't even stand
up. He tried to once and sank down again with a yell. He had sprained
his ankle.

Please imagine for a moment that this adventure is being played on the
stage, and let the curtain fall. Now imagine the curtain raised again.

In the meantime, the storm has died down. The winds are not howling
now, the snow is not falling. The heavens above us