or the whole.

"I'm all right, don't come nearer," called Jeffreys, as he approached;
"there's a ladder there, where Scarfe is. Bring it."

Percy darted off at a tangent, leaving Jeffreys, cool in body and mind,
to await his return. To an ordinarily excitable person, the position
was a critical one. The water was numbing; the ice at the edge of the
hole was rotten, and broke away with every effort he made to climb on to
it; even Julius, floundering beside him, bewildered, and at times a dead
weight on his arms and neck, was embarrassing. Jeffreys, however, did
not exhaust himself by wild struggles. He laid his stick across the
corner of the hole where the ice seemed firmest, and with his arms upon
it propped himself with tolerable security. He ordered the dog out of
the water and made him lie still at a little distance on the ice. He
even contrived to kick off one boot, skate and all, into the water, but
was too numbed to rid himself of the other.

It seemed an eternity while Scarfe and Percy approached with the ladder,
with Raby, terrified and pale, hovering behind.

"Don't come nearer," he shouted, when at last they got within reach.
"Slide it along."

They pushed it, and it slipped to within a yard of him.

Julius, who appeared to have mastered the situation, jumped forward, and
fixing his teeth in the top rung, dragged it the remaining distance.

The remainder was easy. Scarfe crawled along the ladder cautiously till
within reach of the almost exhausted Jeffreys, and caught him under the
shoulder, dragging him partially up.

"I can hold now," said Jeffreys, "if you and Percy will drag the ladder.
Julius, hold me, and drag too."

This combined effort succeeded. A minute later, Jeffreys, numbed with
cold but otherwise unhurt, was being escorted on his one skate between
Percy and Scarfe for the shore, where Raby awaited him with a look that
revived him as nothing else could.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

A BRUSH NEAR KANDAHAR.

While Raby that night dreamed troublously of the events of the day, a
soldier was sitting in his tent near Kandahar, some four thousand or
more miles away, reading a letter. He was an officer; his sword lay
beside him on the table, his boots were off, and a flannel coat took the
place of the regimental jacket which lay beside his saddle on the floor.
If these signs were not sufficient to prove that for the time being he
was off duty, his attitude as he lolled back in his camp-ch