Dinah was panting. Light as she was, with all the activity of youth in
her veins, she found it hard to keep up, for Isabel was pressing,
pressing hard. She went as one in whom the fear of pursuit was ever
present, paying no heed to her companion, seeming indeed to have almost
forgotten her presence.
On and on, up and up, they went on their rapid pilgrimage. The winding of
the road had taken them out of sight of the hotel, and the whole world
seemed deserted. The sun-rays slanted ever more and more obliquely. The
valley behind them had fallen into shadow.
Before them and very far above them towered the great pinnacles, clothed
in the everlasting snows, beginning to turn golden above their floating
wreaths of mist. Even where they were, trails like the ragged edges of a
cloud drifted by them, and the coldness of the air held a clammy quality.
The sparkling dryness of the atmosphere seemed to be dissolving into
these thin, veil-like vapours. The cold was more penetrating than Dinah
had ever before experienced.
Now and then an icy draught came swirling down upon them, making her
shiver, though it was evident that Isabel was unaware of it. The harder
the way became, the more set upon her purpose did she seem to be. Dinah
marvelled at her strength and unvarying determination. There was about it
an element of the wild, not far removed from ferocity. Her uneasiness was
growing with every step, and something that was akin to fear began to
knock at her heart.
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