her. Her soul cried out for comfort.

With Isabel still clasped in her failing arms, she began a desperate
prayer for help. Her words came haltingly. They sounded strange to
herself. But with all the strength that remained she sent forth her cry
to the Infinite. And even as she prayed there came to her--whence she
knew not--the conviction that somewhere--probably not more than a couple
of miles from her though the darkness made the distance seem
immeasurable--Scott was praying too. That thought had a wonderfully
comforting effect upon her. His prayer was so much more likely to be
answered than hers. He was just the sort of man who would know how to
pray.

"How I wish he were here!" she whispered piteously into the darkness. "I
shouldn't be afraid of dying--if only he were here."

She was certain--quite certain--that had he been there with her, no fear
would have reached her. He wore the armour of a strong man, and by it he
would have shielded her also.

"Oh, dear Mr. Greatheart," she murmured through her numb lips, "I'm sure
you know the way to Heaven."

Isabel stirred again as one who moves in restless slumber. "We must scale
the peaks of Paradise to reach it," she said.

"Are you awake, dearest?" asked Dinah very tenderly.

Isabel's head was sunk against her shoulder. She moved it, slightly
raised it. "Yes, I am awake," she said. "I am watching for the dawn."

"It won't come yet," whispered Dinah tremulously. "It's a long, long way
off."

Isabel moved a little more, feeling for Dinah in the darkness. "Are you
frightened, little one?" she said. "Don't be frightened!"

Dinah swallowed down a sob. "It is so dark," she murmured through
chattering teeth. "And so, so cold."

"You are cold, dear heart?" Isabel sat up suddenly. "Why should you be
cold?" she said. "The darkness is nothing to those who are used to it. I
have lived in outer darkness for seven weary years. But now--now I think
the day is drawing near at last."

With an energy that astounded Dinah she got upon her knees and by her
movements she realized, albeit too late, that she was divesting herself
of the long purple coat.

With all her strength she sought to frustrate her, but her strength had
become very feebleness; and when, despite resistance, Isabel wrapped her
round in the garment she had discarded, her resistance was too puny to
take effect.

"My dear," Isabel said, in her voice the deep music of maternal
tenderness, "I am not needing