Though trembling from head to foot, she spoke with decision.

"Peter, go outside and wait for me! Keep that old beggar too! Don't let him go! As soon as I am dressed, we will go to--the place--and--look for him." She stumbled over the last words, but she spoke them bravely.

Peter straightened himself, recognizing the voice of authority.

With a deep salaam, he turned and passed out, drawing the tent-flap decorously into place behind him.
And then with fevered energy, Stella dressed.

Her hands moved with lightning speed though her body felt curiously weighted and unnatural.
The fantastic thought crossed her brain that it was as though she prepared herself for her own funeral.
No sound reached her from without, save only the monotonous and endless dashing of the torrent among its boulders.