is love. He knew it was madness--he had told
himself so every hour in which Min's dark, rebellious face had haunted
him--yet none the less was he under its control.

Min led the horse across the yard and left it standing before the
kitchen door; she had not seen the bowed figure at the gate. When she
reappeared, he saw her dark eyes and the rose-red lustre of her face
gleam out from under the old crimson shawl wrapped about her head.

As she caught the horse by the bridle, the kitchen door swung heavily
to with a sharp, sudden bang. The horse, a great, powerful, nervous
brute, started wildly and then reared in terror.

The ice underfoot was glib and treacherous. Min lost her foothold and
fell directly under the horse's hoofs as they came heavily down. The
animal, freed from her detaining hand, sprang forward, dragging the
laden sleigh over the prostrate woman.

It had all passed in a moment. The moveless figure lay where it had
fallen, one outstretched hand still grasping the whip. Telford sprang
over the gate and rushed up the slope like a madman. He flung himself
on his knees beside her.

"Min! Min!" he called wildly.

There was no answer. He lifted her in his arms and staggered into the
house with his burden, his heart stilling with a horrible fear as he
laid her gently down on the old lounge in one corner of the kitchen.

The room was a large one and everything was neat and clean. The fire
burned brightly, and a few green plants were in blossom by the south
window. Beside them sat a child of about seven years who turned a
startled face at Telford's reckless entrance.

The boy had Min's dark eyes and perfectly chiselled features, refined
by suffering into cameo-like delicacy, and the silken hair fell in
soft, waving masses about the spiritual little face. By his side
nestled a tiny dog, with satin ears and paws fringed as with ravelled
silk.

Telford paid heed to nothing, not even the frightened child. He was as
one distraught.

"Min," he wailed again, striving tremblingly to feel her pulse while
cold drops came out on his forehead.

Min's face was as pallid as marble, save for one heavy bruise across
the cheek and a cruel cut at the edge of the dark hair, from which the
blood trickled down on the pillow.

She opened her eyes wonderingly at his call, looking up with a dazed,
appealing expression of pain and dread. A low moan broke from her
white lips. Telford sprang to his feet in a tumult of quivering