CHAPTER XXI
"THIS PSYCHOLOGICAL ADVENTURE"
The thin-gnawed rind of a red sun showed just above the horizon in the South. It lifted little higher in these days of the silky swishing and the colourless gleam of the Northern Lights possessed the world for all but three hours of mid-winter, and the strange pallor of a long night full daily.
Andree stopped in the trail and turned to look at that red curve before it dropped again. She could look straight into it without blinking, and Dick watched her as she stood, drawn to her full height, with the hood pushed back from her face. The world was colourless, motionless, soundless. In a little while their breath would begin to crackle with the frost as it had done last night. Just now the two, heated through a long march without a pause, were glad to stand a moment to take breath again.
In the lines the huskies leaned forward, ears pricked and tongues dripping. To the south a yellow snow-cloud banked up toward the zenith. Against the wide sweep of snow Andree's small young figure stood lithe and vigorous, instinct with life. But her face was sad: sadder than Dick had seen it since he came to her in the cabin of the "Rocket."
"What is it, Andree?" he said, and she moved instantly, smiling at him.
"I did wonder—this place where there is no life and no light—is this what it will be like to be dead, Dick?"
He came very close to her and took her hand.
"Do you often think of that, Andree?" he asked.
"Non. Oh, non. I cannot think all the to-morrows, they are too many. But—it seemed so, perhaps."
"Forget about it;" he patted her hand gently. "The
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