ought the
mountain-tops again, all rose-lit in the opal glow of sunset.

"You can go back, child," she said. "I must go on."

"But it is getting so late," pleaded Dinah. "And look at the mist! If we
keep on much longer, we may be lost."

Isabel quickened her pace. "I am not afraid," she said, and her voice
thrilled with a deep rapture. "He is waiting for me, there where the
mountains meet the sky. I shall find him in the dawn. I know that I shall
find him."

"But, dear Mrs. Everard, we can't go on after dark," urged Dinah. "We
should be frozen long before morning. It is terribly cold already. And
poor Biddy will be so anxious about you."

"Oh no!" Isabel spoke with supreme confidence. "Biddy will know where I
have gone. She was asleep when I left, poor old soul. She had had a bad
night." A sudden sharp shudder caught her. "All night I was struggling
against the bars of my cage. It was only when Biddy fell asleep that I
found the door was open. But you can go back, child," she added. "You had
better go back. Eustace won't want to follow me if he has you."

But Dinah's hold instantly grew close and resolute. "I shall not leave
you," she said, with decision.

Isabel made no further attempt to persuade her. She seemed to regard it
as a matter of trifling importance. Her one aim was to reach those
glowing peaks that glittered far above the floating mists like the
glories half-revealed of another world.

It was nothing to her that the road by which they had come should be
blotted out. She had no thought for that, no desire or intention to
return. If an earthquake had rent away the ground behind them, she would
not have been dismayed. It was only the forward path, leading ever
upwards to the desired country, that held her mind, and the memory of a
voice that called far above the mountain height.

The sun sank, the glory faded. The dark and the cold wrapped them round.
But still was she undaunted. "When the dawn comes, we shall be there,"
she said.

And Dinah heard her with a sinking heart. She had no thought of leaving
her, but she knew and faced the fact that in going on, she carried her
life in her hand. Yet she kept herself from despair. Surely by now the
brothers would have found out, and they would follow! Surely they would
follow! And Eustace--Eustace would thank her for what she had done.

She strained her ears for their coming; but she heard nothing--nothing
but their own muffled footsteps on the snow. And