A spasm of pain passed over his face.

"How far is it ?" he asked.
"Not more than ten minutes," she replied.
"I can make a spurt for that time," he said coolly, and began to walk slowly but steadily on.

Only his face, which was white and set, and the convulsive grip of his hand on her arm betrayed the effort.

At the end of ten minutes she stopped.

They stood before the splintered, lightning-scarred shaft in the opening of the woods, where Low had built her first camp-fire.