But he would not fail yet.
How long had he been praying so? He had started with a
self-confidence and reliance that had felt no need for that aid;
and now it seemed the only means by which to restrain his heart
from swelling beyond the compass of his body, by which to cherish
his brain from dwindling and shrivelling quite away. Some
sharp-toothed creature kept tearing and dragging on his maimed
left hand; he never could see it, he could not shake it off; but
he prayed it off at times.
The clear stars before him took to shuddering, and he knew why:
they shuddered at sight of what was behind him. He had never
divined before that strange things hid themselves from men under
pretence of being snow-clad mounds or swaying trees; but now they
came slipping out from their harmless covers to follow him, and
mock at his impotence to make a kindred Thing resolve to truer
form. He knew the air behind him was thronged; he heard the hum of
innumerable murmurings together; but his eyes could never catch
them, they were too swift and nimble. Yet he knew they were there,
because, on a backward glance, he saw the snow mounds surge as
they grovelled flatlings out of sight; he saw the trees reel as
they screwed themselves rigid past recognition among the boughs.
And after such glance the stars for awhile returned to
steadfastness, and an infinite stretch of silence froze upon the
chill grey world, only deranged by the swift even beat of the
flying feet, and his own--slower from the longer stride, and the
sound of his breath.
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