but that was clearly no use. More sand tumbled in as fast as
he removed it. He saw there was nothing left for it but patience
or despair. And of the two, his own temperament dictated rather
patience.

He returned at last, wearied out, to Elma's side. Elma, still
sitting disconsolate on the footboard, rocking herself up and down,
and moaning low and piteously, looked up as he came with a mute
glance of inquiry. She was very pretty. That struck him even now.
It made his heart bleed to think she should be so cowed and terrified.

"I'm sorry to bother you," he said, after a pause, half afraid to
speak, "but there are four lamps all burning hard in these four
compartments, and using up the air we may need by-and-by for our
own breathing. If I were to climb to the top of the carriage--which
I can easily do--I could put them all out, and economize our oxygen.
It would leave us in the dark, but it'd give us one more chance
of life. Don't you think I'd better get up and turn them off, or
squash them?"

Elma clasped her hands in horror at the bare suggestion.

"Oh dear, no!" she cried hastily. "Please, PLEASE don't do that.
It's bad enough to choke slowly, like this, in the gloom. But to
die in the dark--that would be ten times more terrible. Why, it's
a perfect Black Hole of Calcutta, even now. If you were to turn
out the lights I could never stand it."

Cyril gave a respectful little nod of assent.