ppy and excited as he was he did not
forget Mrs. Maynard. "Let us not alarm any one."

"There! See, her footsteps down the stairs," whispered Swann. "I can
see them clear to the ground."

"You stay here, Swann, so in case Mrs. Maynard or the servants awake
you can prevent alarm. We must think of that. I'll bring her back."

Mr. Maynard descended the narrow stairway to the lower porch and went
out into the yard. The storm had ceased. A few inches of snow had
fallen and in places was deeper in drifts. The moon was out and shone
down on a white world. It was cold and quiet. When Mr. Maynard had
trailed the footsteps across his wide lawn and saw them lead out into
the street toward the park, he fell against a tree, unable, for a
moment, to command himself. Hope he had none left, nor a doubt. On the
other side of the park, hardly a quarter of a mile away, was the
river. Margaret had gone straight toward it.

Outside in the middle of the street he found her other slipper. She
had not even stockings on now; he could tell by the impressions of her
feet in the snow. He remembered quite mournfully how small Margaret's
feet were, how perfectly shaped. He hurried into the park, but was
careful to obliterate every vestige of her trail by walking in the
soft snow directly over her footprints. A hope that she might have
fainted before she could carry out her determination arose in him and
gave him strength. He kept on. Her trail led straight across the park,
in the short cut she had learned and run over hundreds of times when a
little girl. It was hastening her now to her death.

At first her footsteps were clear-cut, distinct and wide apart. Soon
they began to show evidences of weariness; the stride shortened; the
imprints dragged. Here a great crushing in a snow drift showed where
she had fallen.

Mr. Maynard's hope revived; he redoubled his efforts. She could not be
far. How she dragged along! Then with a leap of his heart, and a sob
of thankfulness he found her, with disheveled hair, and face white as
the snow where it rested, sad and still in the moonlight.

CHAPTER XIX

Middleville was noted for its severe winters, but this year the zero
weather held off until late in January. Lane was peculiarly
susceptible to the cold and he found himself facing a discomfort he
knew he could not long endure. Every day he felt more and more that he
should go to a warm and dry climate; and yet he could not determine to
leave Mi