And always she was staring at the mountain behind which lay the thing they were seeking! It was not Joanne herself that set his blood throbbing.

Her face had not paled.

Its colour was like the hectic flush of a fever.

Her eyes alone betrayed her; their strange intensity--the almost painful steadiness with which they hung to the distant mountain, and a dread of what was to come seized upon him.

Again he found himself asking himself questions which he could not answer.