"Then what will you do? Morrice, this is no time for dreaming! What will you do?" "Jack," I said, "you and I must part company. I must win through this trouble by myself." I heard something like a sob; it was the only answer he made. "Wait for me by the horses in the wood! Give me till dawn, but not a moment longer! If I am not with you then--well, 'tis the long good-bye betwixt you and me, Jack, and you had best ride for your life." Again he made no answer. For a moment I fancied that he had stolen away in a fury, and I craned my head over the rock, so that I could look down into the road. He was standing motionless with bent shoulders just beneath me. "Jack!" I called. For it might well be the last time I should speak to him. We had been good friends, and I would not have him part from me in anger. "There is no other way. It can't be helped." He turned up his face towards me, but it was too dark for me to read its expression. "Very well, Morrice," he said, and there was no resentment in his tone. "I will wait for your coming, and God send you come!" And with a dull, heavy step he walked back along the path. I turned and set my face to the cliff. After a while the ridge widened out, and the snow overlaid it more firmly, insomuch that a surefoot might have walked along by day. In the uncertain light, however--for the moon as yet hung low in a gap of the hills--I dared not venture it, and crept up on my hands and knees, testing carefully each tooth of rock or ever I trusted my weight to its stability. Towards the summit the rib thinned again to a sharp edge, and I was forced to straddle up it as best I could, with a leg dangling on either side. Altogether, what with the obstacles which the climb presented, and the numbing of my fingers, since the snow quickly soaked through my gloves, I made my way but slowly.