The first thing to be done was to tell Sabina that the danger was
past. He crept back with his light and stood upright. It hurt him to
straighten himself, and he now knew how tremendous the labour had
been; the last furious minutes had been like the delirium of a fever.
But he was tough and used to every sort of fatigue, and hope had come
back; he forgot how thirsty he had been, and did not even glance
behind him at the water.
Sabina was still asleep. He stood before her, and hesitated, for it
seemed cruel to wake her, even to tell her the good news. He would go
back and widen the breach, and when there was room to get out, he
could come and fetch her. She had put out the lamp. He lighted it
again quietly, and was going to place it where it could not shine in
her eyes and perhaps wake her, when he paused to look at her face.
It was very still, and deadly pale, and her lips were blue. He could
not see that she was breathing, for his coat hung loosely over her
slender figure. She looked almost dead. Her gloved hands lay with the
palms upwards, the one in her lap, the other on the ground beside her.
He touched that one gently with the back of his own, and it seemed to
him that it was very cold, through the glove.
He touched her cheek in the same way, and it felt like ice. It would
surely be better to wake her, and make her move about a little.
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