"Blessed if I know: over yonder somewhere," Amber told him, waving
toward the bay-shore an arm as vaguely helpful as his information.

"Thank you so much. Guess I can find her all right. Hump yo'self,
Davy."

They plodded on heavily, making fair progress in spite of the hindering
sand. Nevertheless it had grown sensibly darker ere they debouched upon
the frozen flats that bordered the bay; and now the wind bore down upon
them in full-winged fury, shrieking in their ears, searing their eyes,
tearing greedily at the very breath of their nostrils, and searching
out with impish ingenuity the more penetrable portions of their
clothing.

For a moment Quain paused, irresolute, peering right and left, then
began to trudge eastwards, heavy boots crunching the thin sedge-ice. A
little later they came to the water's edge and proceeded steadily along
it, Quain leading confidently. Eventually he tripped over some
obstacle, stumbled and lurched forward and recovered his balance with
an effort, then remained with bowed head, staring down at his feet.

"Hurt yourself, old man?"

"No!" snapped Quain rudely.

"Then what in--"

"Eh?" Quain roused, but an instant longer looked him blankly in the
eye. "Oh," he added brightly--"oh, she's gone."