At the bottom of the chute was a long empty room of ice， withthe ceiling so low that they had to stoop—and their hands wereparted. Before she realized what he intended Harry had darteddown one of the half-dozen glittering passages that openedinto the room and was only a vague receding blot against thegreen shimmer.
“Harry！” she called.
“Come on！” he cried back.
She looked round the empty chamber； the rest of the partyhad evidently decided to go home， were already outsidesomewhere in the blundering snow. She hesitated and thendarted in after Harry.
“Harry！” she shouted.
She had reached a turning-point thirty feet down； she hearda faint muffled answer far to the left， and with a touch of panicfled toward it. She passed another turning， two more yawningalleys.
“Harry！”
No answer. She started to run straight forward， and thenturned like lightning and sped back the way she had come，enveloped in a sudden icy terror.
She reached a turn—was it here？—took the left and cameto what should have been the outlet into the long， low room，but it was only another glittering passage with darkness at theend. She called again， but the walls gave back a flat， lifelessecho with no reverberations. Retracing her steps she turnedanother corner， this time following a wide passage. It was likethe green lane between the parted water of the Red Sea， like adamp vault connecting empty tombs.
She slipped a little now as she walked， for ice had formed onthe bottom of her overshoes； she had to run her gloves alongthe half-slippery， half-sticky walls to keep her balance.
“Harry！”
Still no answer. The sound she made bounced mockinglydown to the end of the passage.
Then on an instant the lights went out， and she was incomplete darkness. She gave a small， frightened cry， and sankdown into a cold little heap on the ice. She felt her left knee dosomething as she fell， but she scarcely noticed it as some deepterror far greater than any fear of being lost settled upon her.
She was alone with this presence that came out of the North， thedreary loneliness that rose from ice-bound whalers in the Arcticseas， from smokeless， trackless wastes where were strewn thewhitened bones of adventure. It was an icy breath of death； itwas rolling down low across the land to clutch at her.
With a furious， despairing energy she rose again and startedblindly down the darkness. She must get out. She might be lostin here for days， freeze to death and lie embedded in the icelike corpses she had read of， kept perfectly preserved until themelting of a glacier. Harry probably thought she had left withthe others—he had gone by now； no one would know untilnext day. She reached pitifully for the wall. Forty inches thick，they had said—forty inches thick！
On both sides of her along the walls she felt things creeping，damp souls that haunted this palace， this town， this North.
“Oh， send somebody—send somebody！” she cried aloud.
