Suddenly he missed the trail. His hand groped in vain over the white
crust. He crept on a few more feet, then as ever, began to circle.
Soon his hand found an indentation in the snow crust, and he started to
creep forward again.

But slowly the conviction grew upon him that he was crawling in a small
circle,--the very circle he had just made. Some way, he had missed
the snowshoe trail. He did not remember how on his journey out he had
once been obliged to backtrack a hundred yards and start on at a new
angle. He had merely come to that point from which he had turned back.
He could not find the trail because he was at its end.

He could not remember that it was his own trail. How he came here, his
purpose and his destination, were all lost and forgotten in the
intricate mazes of the past. He had but one purpose, one theme,--to
keep to his trail an journey on. He would make a bigger circle. He
started to creep forward in the snow.

But as he waited, on hands and knees in the drifts, the Spirit of Mercy
came down to him and gave him one moment of lucid thought. All at once
full consciousness returned to him in a sweep as of a tide, and he
remembered all that had occurred. He saw all things in their exact
relations. And now he knew his course.

No longer would he struggle on, slave to the remorseless instinct of
self-preservation. Was there any glory, any happiness at his journey's
end that would pay him for the agony of one more forward step? He had
waged a mighty battle; but now--in a flash--he realized that the
spoil for which he had fought was not worth one moment of his hours of
pain. He remembered Virginia, Harold, the mind and its revelation: he
recalled that his mission had been merely an expedition after provisions
so that the two could go out of his life. Was there any reason why he
should fight for life, only to find death?

There was nothing in the distant cabin worth having now. He was
suddenly crushed with bitterness at the thought that he had made this
mighty effort for a goal not worth attaining. If he struggled on, even
to success, the only thing that waited him was a moment of farewell with
Virginia and the vision of her slipping away from him, into her lover's
arms. When she departed only the forest and the darkness would be left,
and he had these here.

It would be different if he felt Virginia still needed him. If he could
win her any happiness by fighting on, the struggle