is animal instincts
in the primitive struggle with the elements.

Then, while the snow folded them closely in its white embrace during a
lull, the girl recovered herself, and her strained voice was faintly
audible.

"This is my fault. Why don't you tell me so?" she said.

A hoarse laugh seemed to issue from the whitened object beside her, and
she was drawn closer to it again. "We needn't go into that just now.
You have one thing to do, and that is to keep warm."

One of the horses stumbled, the grasp that was around her became
relaxed and she heard the swish of the whip followed by hoarse
expletives, and did not resent it. The man, it seemed, was fighting
for her life as well as his own, and even brutal virility was
necessary. After that, there was a space of oblivion while the storm
raged about them, until, when the wind fell a trifle, it became evident
that the horses had left the trail.

"You are off the track, and will never make the Grange unless you find
it," she said.

Winston seemed to nod. "We are not going there," he said, and if he
added anything, it was lost in the scream of a returning gust.

Again Maud Barrington's reason reasserted itself, and remembering the
man's history she became sensible of a curious dismay, but it also
passed and left her with the vague realization that he and she were
actuated alike only by the desire to escape extinction. Presently she
became sensible that the sleigh had stopped beside a formless mound of
white and the man was shaking her.

"Hold those furs about you while I lift you down," he said.

She did his bidding, and did not shrink when she felt his arms about
her, while next moment she was standing knee-deep in the snow and the
man shouting something she did not catch. Team and sleigh seemed to
vanish, and she saw her companion dimly for a moment before he was lost
in the sliding whiteness, too. Then a horrible fear came upon her.

It seemed a very long while before he reappeared, and thrust her in
through what seemed to be a door. Then there was another waiting
before the light of a lamp blinked out, and she saw that she was
standing in a little log-walled room with bare floor and a few trusses
of straw in a comer. There was also a rusty stove, and a very small
pile of billets beside it. Winston, who had closed the door, stood
looking at them with a curious expression.

"Where is the team?" she gasped.

"Heading for a birch bluff or Silverdale,