t of it as his
toes scraped along the granite behind him. Once when he put out his
hands near the cave opening, they fell upon what felt like cloth.
Something gave before his touch with a dry rattle as of bones. He drew
back with the morbid thought that they really _were_ bones. Perhaps
some other poor devil had made his way here and died.

He felt a craving, greater at first even than his thirst, for light.
If only the moon came in here somewhere; if only he could find wood to
make a fire. He had a few matches, but these he must keep for
something more important than catering to a fear. He turned back to
the cave mouth, pressing forward this time to the very edge. He saw
opposite him another sheer face of rock which came in parallel to this
in which he was imprisoned. His eyes fell below to a measureless
drop. But the moon was shining and found its way down into these
depths. With his eyes still down he bathed in this. Then, with
returning strength, he turned to the left and his heart came into his
throat. There was still more light; but, greater joy than this, he
caught sight far below him of a pool of liquid purple. The cold,
unshimmering rays of the moon played upon it in silver paths. It was
the lake--the lake upon whose borders it was possible she stood at
that very moment, perhaps looking up at these cliffs. It looked such a
gentle thing--this lake. Within its calm waters another moon shone and
about its edges a fringe of dark where the trees threw their shadows.
He thrust his body out as far as possible to see more of it. The light
and the color were as balm to his eyes. But it brought back another
fever; how he would like to thrust his hot head into its depths and
drink, drink, drink! The idea pressed in upon him so strongly, with
such insane persistence, that he felt as though if he got very near
the edge and took a firm grip with his toes, he could reach the water
in a jump. It was worth trying. If he took a long breath, and got just
the right balance--he found himself actually crouching. He fell back
from this danger, but he couldn't escape his thirst. He must find
water. The dry dust had sifted into his throat--his lungs.

His thoughts now centered on nothing else but this. Water stood for
everything in the world--for the world itself, because it meant life.
Water--water--nothing else could quench the fever which tore at his
throat like a thing with a million sharp claws--nothing else could
clear his brai