His neck muscles twitched and his long, lean fingers were digging into his own flesh.
In an instant Philip was on his feet.

He saw nothing of the girl's face, hidden under a mass of hair in which the sun burned like golden fire.

He saw nothing but the crumpled, lifeless form, smothered under the shining mass, and yet in this moment he knew.

With a fierce cry he dropped upon his knees and drew away the girl's hair until her lovely face lay revealed to him in terrible pallor and stillness, and as Billinger stood there, tense and staring, he caught that face close to his breast, and began talking to it as though he had gone "Isobel--Isobel--Isobel--" he moaned.

"My God, my Isobel--" He had repeated the name a hundred times, when Billinger, who began to understand, put his hand on Philip's shoulder and gave him his water canteen.
"She's not dead, man," he said, as Philip's red eyes glared up at him.
"Here--water." "My God--it's strange," almost moaned Philip.