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.
As one who wanders in a golden maze she began to dream strange dreams that yet were not woven by the hand of sleep.

Dimly she saw as down a long perspective a knight in golden armour climbing, ever climbing, the peaks of Paradise, from which, as from an eagle's nest, she watched his difficult but untiring progress.

She thought he halted somewhat in the ascent--which was unlike Apollo, who walked as walk the gods with a gait both arrogant and assured.