“Now,” he said, “we’ve got to make that spur where it’s safe.  Come.  It isn’t far; just been up to that place where Banks helped us across; had to come back for you.”

But he was obliged to lift her to her feet and to support her up the slope.  And this, even though the tongue widened above them, threw him perilously close to the crevasse.  Once, twice, the ice broke on the brink and dropped clinking down, down.  It was impossible to make the leap again to the higher surface they had descended; unhampered, he must have been physically unfit.  Behind them the cloud closed over the Pass and the mountain top under which the Oriental Limited had stood.  His companion no longer looked back; she moved as mechanically though less certainly than one who walks in sleep.  The fears that possessed him, that she herself had held so finely in check when they had followed Banks on this glacier, did not trouble her now.  Her indifference to their extremity began to play on Frederic’s unhinged nerves.  This white, blue-lipped woman was not the Beatriz Weatherbee he had known; who had climbed the slope with him that morning, all exhilaration, spirit, charm; whose example had challenged his endurance and held his courage to the sticking point.

“Why don’t you say something?” he complained.  “Have you turned into ice?  Now look where you step, can’t you?  Deuced fix you got us into, dreaming there in the clouds, when Lucky Banks had left the spur.  Come on, you bloodless ghost; come, or I’ll let you stay where you drop.  Nice place to spend the night in.  Almighty God!”

So, upbraiding her when she stumbled, blaming her for their plight, threatening to leave her if she should fall, and flaying himself on with renewed panic, he brought her to the top of the double crevasse and the prospector’s crossing.  But here, with the levels of the spur before them, her strength reached low ebb.  This time he was not able to rouse her, and he threw down his alpenstock and took her in his arms, and went slipping and recovering the remaining steps.  He stopped, winded, and stood her on her feet, but her body sagged limply against him, and the sight of her still face terrified him.  He carried her a little farther, to the shelter of the crag, and laid her there.  Then he dropped to his knees beside her, and grasping her shoulders shook her, at first slowly, then swiftly, with the roughness of despair.

“Wake up,” he cried thickly.  “Wake up!  Don’t you see we’re out of that hole?  Come, Banks will be here any minute.  Come, wake up.”

She made no response.  The sun had set; it was growing bitterly cold, and there was little protection under the crag.  It was a place where cross winds met.  Torn fragments from the sea of cloud below drove against the pinnacle.  It was like a lofty headland breasting rolling surf.  Frederic stood erect and sent his voice down through the smother in a great shout.  It brought no answer, and he settled helplessly on the shelf beside her.  It began to hail furiously, and he dropped his face, shielding it in his arms.