ake, who lay with half-closed eyes, breathing with
apparent difficulty and making feeble restless movements. Stooping
beside him, he took out a very small bottle, and after carefully
letting a few drops fall into a spoon, with some trouble got the sick
man to swallow them. Then he sat down and turned to Harding.

"I can't predict the result. We must wait an hour; then I may be able
to form some opinion."

Harding lighted his pipe and though he found it strangely hard to sit
still smoked steadily. His mouth grew dry with the strain he was
bearing, but he refilled the pipe as it emptied and bit savagely on its
stem, crushing the wood between his teeth. There was, so far as he
could see, no change in Blake, and he was stirred by a deep pity and a
daunting sense of loneliness. He knew now that he had grown to love
the man; Blake's quick resourcefulness had overcome many of the
obstacles they had met with, his whimsical humour had lightened the
toilsome march, and often when they were wet and worn out he had
banished their dejection by a jest. Now it looked as if they would
hear his cheerful laugh no more, and Harding felt that if the worst
came, he would, in a sense, be accountable for his partner's death. It
was his sanguine expectations that had drawn Blake into the wilds.

Benson, who seemed to find the suspense equally trying, made no remark,
and there was nothing to be learned from Clarke's impassive face.
Harding could only wait with all the fortitude he could muster, but he
long remembered that momentous hour. They were all perfectly still;
there was no wind, a heavy grey sky overhung them, and the smoke of the
fire went straight up. The gurgle of running water came softly through
the silence. At length, when Harding felt the tension becoming
unendurable, Clarke, who glanced at his watch, reopened the small
bottle.

"We'll try again," he said gravely, and Harding thought he detected
anxiety in his tone.

The dose was given and Harding, feeling the urgent need of action if he
were to continue calm, got up and wandered about the muskeg. Coming
back after a time, he looked at Clarke, who merely shook his head,
though his face now showed signs of uneasiness. Harding sat down again
and refilled his pipe, noticing that the stem was nearly bitten
through. He gathered from the doctor's expression that they would soon
know what to expect and he feared the worst. Now, however, he was
growing cool; his eyes