Frank will not permit himself even to ask the question.

But speedily he forms a strong hammock with one of the rugs. Not a sailor's knot ever made that this boy is not well acquainted with. And now, after making sure that all is secure, he signals, and five minutes after this the body is got to bank without a single hitch.

Then while two men, with Captain Talbot and Duncan, commence operations on the stiff and apparently frozen body, the others lower away again, and presently after Frank's young and earnest face is seen above the snow-rift.

He is helped up, and proceeds at once to lend a.s.sistance.

Conal had been a favourite with all the men, and now they work in relays, the one relay relieving the other every five minutes, chafing and rubbing hands, arms, legs, and chest with spirits.

Duncan can do nothing.

He seems stupefied with grief.

After nearly half an hour of hard rubbing and kneading, to the skipper's intense joy the flesh of the arms begins to get softer. Presently a blue knot appears on one, and he knows there is a slight flicker of life reviving in the apparently lifeless body.

The lamp may flicker with a dying glare, and Talbot knows this well, so he refrains from communicating his hopes to disconsolate Duncan.

But he endeavours now to restore respiration, by slowly and repeatedly pressing the arms against the chest, and alternately raising them above the head.

The rubbing goes on.

Soon the eyelids quiver!

There seems to be a struggle, for the poor boy's face turns red--nay, almost blue. Then there is a deep convulsive sigh.

Just such a sigh as this might be his last on earth, or it might be the first sign of returning life.

Talbot puts his hand on Conal's cold wrist. The pulse flickers so he scarce can feel it; but it is there.

Operations are redoubled. Sigh after sigh is emitted, and soon--

"Heaven be praised!" cries Captain Talbot, for of his own accord Conal opens his eyes.

He even murmurs something, and shuts them once more, as if in utter weariness he fain would go to sleep.

But that sleep might end in death. No, he must be revived.

The circulation increases.

The life so dear to all is saved, for now Conal can swallow a little brandy.

Duncan's head has fallen on his knee and open palms as he crouches shivering on the snow, and the tears that have welled through his fingers lie in frozen drops on his clothing.

Gently, so gently, steals Talbot up behind him. Gently, so gently, he lays one hand on his shoulder.

"Duncan, can you bear the news?"

"Yes, yes, for the bitterness of death is past."

"But it is not death, dear lad, but--life."

"Life! I cannot believe it! Have you saved him?

"Then," he added, "my Father, who art in heaven, receive Thou the praise!

"And you, friend Talbot," he continued, pressing his captain's hand, "the thanks."

Conal was got safely back over the creva.s.se, and in his extempore hammock borne tenderly down the mountain-side until the plain below was reached.

But by this time he is able to raise his eyes and speak to his now joyful brother.

He even tries to smile.

"A narrow squeak, wasn't it?" he says.

His brother scarce can answer, so nervous does he feel after the terrible shock to the system.

The men, however, are thoroughly exhausted, and so under the shelter of a rock a camp is formed once more, and supper cooked.

Coffee and condensed milk seem greatly to restore the invalid, and once more he feels drowsy.

Soon the sun sets, and it being considered not unsafe now to permit Conal to sleep, the best couch possible is made for him, and a tin flask of hot water being laid near to his heart, his skin becomes warm, and he is soon afterwards sleeping and breathing as gently and freely as a child of tender years.

There is a little darkness to-night; but a moon is shining some short distance up in the sky and casting long dark shadows from the boulders across that dazzling field of snow.

Diamond stars are in the sky.

Yes, and there seems to be a diamond in every snowflake.

Duncan will not sleep, however, till he has seen his brother's face once more and heard him breathe. "For what," he asks himself, "if his recovery be but a dream from which I shall presently awake?"

His own rugs are laid close to his brother's, and he gently removes a corner of the latter, and lets the moon-rays fall on Conal's face.

The boy opens his eyes.

"Is it you, Duncan?"

"It is me, my brother."

"Then hold my hand and I shall sleep."

Duncan did as he was told.

"Duncan!"

"Yes, Conal."