"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 it. I shall not need any earthly things for long. I am going to meet my husband in the dawning. But you--you will go back."
She fastened the coat with a quiet dexterity that made Dinah think again of Scott, and sat down again in her corner as if unconscious of the cold.
"Come and lie in my arms, little one!" she said. "Perhaps you will be able to sleep."
Dinah crept close. "It will kill you--it will kill you!" she sobbed. "Oh, why did I let you?"
Isabel's arms closed about her. "Don't cry, dear!" she murmured fondly. "It is nothing to me. A little sooner--a little later! If you had suffered what I have suffered you would say as I do, 'Dear God, let it be soon!' There! Put your head on my shoulder, dear child! See if you can get a little sleep! You have cared for me long enough. Now I am going to care for you."
With loving words she soothed her, calming her as though she had been a child in nightmare terror, and gradually a certain peace began to still the horror in Dinah's soul. An unmistakable drowsiness was stealing over her, a merciful lethargy lulling the sensibilities that had been so acutely tried. Her weakness was merging into a sense of almost blissful repose. She was no longer conscious of the anguish of the cold. Neither did the darkness trouble her. And the comfort of Isabel's arms was rest to her spirit.