-neck.

'Once,' she said, spreading out her hands, 'I ripped my counterpane
from end to end. That takes strength. I had it then. I've little now.
"All dorn," as my little niece says. And you, lad?'

'"All dorn"! Let me keep your case for you till the morning.'

'But the cold feeling is beginning.'

'Lend it me, then.'

'And the drag down my right side. I shan't be able to move in a minute.'

'I can scarcely lift my arm myself,' said Conroy. 'We're in for it.'

'Then why are you so foolish? You know it'll be easier if we have only
one--only one apiece.'

She was lifting the case to her mouth. With tremendous effort Conroy
caught it. The two moved like jointed dolls, and when their hands met it
was as wood on wood.

'You must--not!' said Conroy. His jaws stiffened, and the cold climbed
from his feet up.

'Why--must--I--not?' She repeated the words idiotically.

Conroy could only shake his head, while he bore down on the hand and the
case in it.

Her speech went from her altogether. The wonderful lips rested half over
the even teeth, the breath was in the nostrils only, the eyes dulled,
the face set grey, and through the glove the hand struck like ice.

Presently her soul came back and stood behind her eyes--only thing that
had life in all that place--stood and looked for Conroy's soul. He too
was fettered in every limb, but somewhere at an immense distance he
heard his heart going about its work as the engine-room carries on
through and beneath the all but overwhelming wave. His one hope, he
knew, was not to lose the eyes that clung to his, because there was an
Evil abroad which would possess him if he looked aside by a
hair-breadth.

The rest was darkness through which some distant planet spun while
cymbals clashed. (Beyond Farnborough the 10.8 rolls out many empty
milk-cans at every halt.) Then a body came to life with intolerable
pricklings. Limb by limb, after agonies of terror, that body returned to
him, steeped in most perfect physical weariness such as follows a long
day's rowing. He saw the heavy lids droop over her eyes--the watcher
behind them departed--and, his soul sinking into assured peace,
Conroy slept.

Light on his eyes and a salt breath roused him without shock. Her hand
still held his. She slept, forehead down upon it, but the movement of
his waking waked her too, and she sneezed like a child.

'I--I think it's morning,' said Conroy.

'And nothing has happened! Did you see your Men