Borne along by the current, Darrell was instantly at the boat's side. “God in Heaven, Annabel!” he cried. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. I’m so glad you’re not angry. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a search for particular passages.
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