rew her to him, and tried to comfort her. Her poor
undernourished body shook with the sobs that despair and the cold wrung
from her, and, though his own hands and body were blue, he tried to warm
her. Had he seen the ground ahead of them, he, too, might have given up,
but blindness was the barring wall of black which shut out even defeat.
He clenched his teeth firmly, and lifted Claire in his arms again
resolutely.

"We've got to do it, Claire," he said, "and we will."

She attempted to paint the scene before him in graphic detail, her words
broken by sobs. When she finished he started forward.

"We'll follow the gulf," he stated. "We must keep going, Claire. We
don't dare to stop."

"We can't. It's dark, and will be black soon," she answered.

"We've got to do it," Lawrence repeated. "It isn't the first night of my
life I've struggled against a black so dense its nothingness seemed
overpowering."

She strained her eyes through the gathering night to turn him into the
smoothest way, lapsing into jerky, habitual words of guidance.

In the darkness they entered the ravine and staggered down to its broken
bottom. The time soon came when she could see hardly anything until they
were almost upon it, and the white face of a boulder spotting the
endless black before her filled her with a vague dread. Often they
paused to rest, but the cold drove them on again. Claire almost ceased
to direct him, and Lawrence gritted his teeth till they hurt him and
forged ahead.

Once he slipped and fell, but got to his feet again and went on. Claire
was not injured beyond a few bruises, but she noticed that he limped
more than before and her fear increased.

How they ever fought that night through neither knew, but morning came
at last and found them still staggering down the ravine. They were
almost out of it now and were entering a rather heavy pine forest.
Fortunately the gulf they followed had turned around the mountain in the
direction of the river, and their desire for water drove them to keep
on. To their blue and shaking bodies all feeling had grown vague,
tingling, and uncertain. When Claire looked at Lawrence she could have
screamed. His lips were drawn back, and his hairy cheeks and sightless
eyes flashed before her the image of a dehumanized death mask. Her own
face must look like that, she thought, and buried her head on his
shoulder. Through that morning he struggled on, faltering, lurching,
resting a little, girding