room for fear. Had she not felt that he
was with her and that God was with her she must have felt an
unutterable, dreary loneliness; but she was upborne at every step and
gloried in every exertion.

And exertion, until she came close to the limits of endurance, was to be
hers that white night; hers the knowledge of supreme endeavour. On and
on she went across the immense glistening smooth fields through which
the trail ahead was the only scar, through groves of black pines
whispering, whispering, whispering, down into shadow-filled canons, out
into the open again, up and down and on and on, a tiny dot upon the
endless wastes. Fatigue came upon her suddenly, when she had forgotten
to save her strength and had gone over-fast. She rested, lying on her
back, her eyes closed. She opened her eyes, she saw the stars, she rose
and went on. She had gone miles; how many she could not guess. Always,
after for a little while she had dropped down wearily, she rose again
and went on; she learned that, though beaten down, one might rise again.
That was Mark King's way; it would be her way. Despite the rags about
her boots her feet were soon dangerously cold. She passed into the
embrace of a forest of black trees casting blacker shadows. Their
branches seemed motionless, but they sang to her with hushed voices. And
always there was the trail King had made, leading her on; where he had
gone before, she followed.

Where he had made slow progress, seeking game and breaking trail, she
went swiftly on the packed snow. So, in the full splendour of the moon,
she came at last to the final ridge, whence, looking down into the
canon, she saw the end of her trail: hanging from a bent pine sapling
was what she knew must be his bear. Down the steep slope she went, half
sliding, half rolling. In the bed of the ravine she landed softly in the
drift; here she rested, sitting in a nest of snow. And before she had
stirred to begin the last short span of her journey, there came suddenly
out of the silence a strange, quivering cry, bursting out upon her; a
sobbing, throbbing scream.

"A woman!" cried Gloria, aghast.

A woman in an agony of terror, she thought. Or a lost soul, the
wandering spirit of the dead, or God knew what impossible thing. Sudden
terror leaped out upon her, striking like a knife into her heart. Fear,
banished all this time, surprised her and clutched at her throat and
paralysed her muscles. Blind panic gripped her. Then came the p