Success, however wearying and exhausting, gives one a certain working capital of strength, and having succeeded so far he would not now fail.

His success in crossing had given him that working capital of resolution and incentive whence came his superhuman strength and overmastering resolve in that lonely tree.

And he would not fail now.
Yet he could not bring himself to look at his watch.

He was willing to venture a guess, from the sun, as to what time it was, but he could not clinch the knowledge by a look at the cruel, uncompromising little glass-faced autocrat in his pocket.

He preferred to work in the less disheartening element of uncertainty.