ve--it lost its meaning as a treasure house. It was a place to
relieve the ache which was creeping back to his arms; which would
soothe his straining legs. It was a place to lie down in--this hole,
hiding pretty jewels and gold plate.

He raised his voice in a final call to Stubbs. It was like calling
against a wall; his muffled voice was thrown back in his face. With a
start he saw that the light about him was fading. He studied his map
for the last time to make sure he had made no mistake, and, folding
it, adjusted it once more about his neck.

It was the same laboriously slow process all over again. He shuffled
one foot ahead, moved his body squat against the wall, and followed
with the other foot. Each time he moved the bitter dust sifted down
until it checked his breathing and burned his throat. He had learned
to keep his eyes fast closed, but it was a constant effort, for this
increased the feeling of dizziness. Always there was a power at his
back which drew him out as though he were responding to some powerful
magnet. This and the temptation to loosen the tight cords back of his
knees--to just let go and sink into relaxation--kept him at a more
severe strain than did the actual physical effort.

But more than gold was at stake now,--more than jewels, though they
sparkled like stars. The prize for steady legs and unflinching nerves
was a respite from Death. If he reached the cave, he would have
several days at least before him. Neither thirst nor hunger, fierce
masters though they are, can work their will except by slow process.
Against them Stubbs would be racing and he had faith in this man.

He did not fear Death itself. In thinking of the end, the bitter thing
it meant to him was the taking off of her. And every day meant one day
more of her--another chance of finding her and getting her back to
God's country and the life which awaited them there. It _did_ wait for
them; in coming here they had left the true course of their life, but
it remained for them to take it up when once they should make the
beaten tracks again. Now he was trembling along the ragged edge of
losing it all--all that lay behind and all that lay before. But if
this was to be so, why had he ever seen that face in the misty dark?
why had he come upon her the second and the third time? why had Chance
brought him to her across ten thousand miles of sea? why had it
brought him here? Why at the beginning could he not have forgotten her
as on