d more and more keenly that his presence there was
imperative. Beatrix seemed to him far from well. Her nerves had been
less steady since the shock of that last supper in New York; she was
totally unable to adjust herself to Lorimer's swift alternations of
mood, his hours of demonstrative affection, his times of black
depression and irritability. Thayer saw that she did her best, that she
bravely sought to play a loyal part in the work of reformation. The
failure was in no sense that of will, but of mere nervous strength. But
there were hours and hours when Thayer stood between them, trying by his
sympathy for Lorimer to atone for Beatrix's coldness, trying by his
chivalry to Beatrix to make amends for the fractiousness of Lorimer.

There were hours when he mourned acutely for his work. They invariably
followed upon the heels of a letter from Arlt and they invariably ended
in his going to the cottage and dragging Lorimer out for a tramp in the
stinging air. The doctor had ordered much exercise, and Lorimer, who
refused to go beyond his door in the society of his man, made long
expeditions at Thayer's side, returning weary of body, but of placid
mood and healthy appetite, to spend a short evening and a long and
restful night.

The day before, they had been out since early morning. The deep-packed
snow had lain, hard and solid and tempting, and the sun glittered coldly
back into the windless air. Lorimer had been in high spirits. One of his
old gay, infectious moods was upon him, and, for the passing hour,
Thayer let himself yield to it until he forgot Beatrix, forgot the
tragedy which overhung them all, forgot even the number of miles they
had come. At noon, they had found a wood-choppers' camp and, sitting
around the blazing fire, they had mingled their daintily-packed lunch
with the cruder fare of their temporary hosts. Lorimer had been the life
of the party, and the good-bys had been spoken with real regret. At the
top of the hill above the camp, Lorimer had turned back again to wave
his cap in boyish farewell. Then the episode had ended, ended more
completely than Thayer as yet could realize.

Lorimer's mood changed on the way home. He grumbled about the softening
snow, about the gathering dusk, about the length of the road. His
exasperation reached its height when, ignoring Thayer's advice in regard
to the path, he struck out across an open snowfield, only to go crashing
down through its insecure foundation of bab