Her voice rose only in a sob, and ended in a sob.

The last of her strength was gone.

Her little figure swayed, and her face was white and haggard, and in her drawn lips and staring eyes was the agony of despair.

She had lost, and she knew that she had lost as she crumpled down in the trail, crying out sobbingly to the footprints which led so clearly ahead of her.
"Peter, I can't go on," she moaned.

"I can't--go on--" Her hands clutched at her breast.