he felt that she had the strength and courage to walk to
the end of the earth and she went on and on, never thinking of the
storm, or her destination, or where she would rest that night. Her
head felt light, as if she had been drinking wine, and more than once
she stopped to mop the perspiration from her forehead. How absurd for
the snow to fall on such a sultry night, and foolish of those people
who had turned her out to die, thinking it was cold--the thermometer
must be 100. She paused to get her breath; a blast of icy wind caught
her cape, and almost succeeded in robbing her of it, and the chill
wrestled with the fever that was consuming her, and she realized for
the first time that it was cold.

"Well, what next?" she asked herself, throwing back her head and
unconsciously assuming the attitude of a creature brought to bay but
still unconquered.

"What next?" She repeated it with the dull despair of one who has
nothing further to fear in the way of suffering. The Fates had spent
themselves on her, she no longer had the power to respond. Suppose she
should become lost in a snowdrift? "Well, what did it matter?"

Then came one of those unaccountable clearings of the mental vision
that nature seems to reserve for the final chapter. Her quickened
brain grasped the tragedy of her life as it never had before. She saw
it with impersonal eyes. Anna Moore was a stranger on whose case she
could sit with unbiased judgment. Her mind swung back to the football
game in the golden autumn eighteen months ago, and she heard the cheers
and saw the swarms of eager, upturned faces and the dots of blue and
crimson, like flowers, in a great waving field. What a panorama of
life, and force, and struggle it had been! How typical of life, and
the end--but no, the end was not yet; there must be some justice in
life, some law of compensation. God must hear at last!

The wind came tearing down from, the pine forest, surging through the
hills till it became a roar. Ah, it had sounded like that at the game.
They had called "Rah, Rah Sanderson" till they were hoarse, "Sanderson,
Rah! Sander-son! Rah! Rah!" The crackling forest seemed to have
gone mad with the echo of his name. It had become the keynote of the
wind. Rah! Rah! Sanderson!

"You can't escape him even in death" something seemed to whisper in her
ear. "Ha-ha, Sanderson, San-der-son." She put her hands to her ears
to shut out the hateful sound, but she heard