Frona watched their progress from the bank.
The first hundred yards were easy going, but she noticed at once the change when they had passed the limit of the fairly solid shore-ice.
Her father led sturdily, feeling ahead and to the side with his staff and changing direction continually.
St.Vincent, at the rear of the extended line, was the first to go through, but he fell with the pole thrust deftly across the opening and resting on the ice.

His head did not go under, though the current sucked powerfully, and the two men dragged him out after a sharp pull.
Frona saw them consult together for a minute, with much pointing and gesticulating on the part of the baron, and then St.Vincent detach himself and turn shoreward.
"Br-r-r-r," he shivered, coming up the bank to her.

"It's impossible." "But why didn't they come in ?" she asked, a slight note of displeasure manifest in her voice.
"Said they were going to make one more try, first.

That Courbertin is hot-headed, you know." "And my father just as bull-headed," she smiled.

"But hadn't you better change?
There are spare things in the tent." "Oh, no." He threw himself down beside her.