Maud Barrington noticed the absence of any attempt at explanation, and
having considerable pride of her own, was sensible of a faint approval.
"You are making slow progress," she said, with a slight but perceptible
difference in her tone. "Now, you can have eaten nothing since
breakfast."

Winston said nothing, but by and by poured a little of the spirit into
a rusty can, and the girl, who understood why he did so, felt that it
covered several of his offenses. "Now," she said graciously, "you may
smoke if you wish to."

Winston pointed to the few billets left and shook his head. "I'm
afraid I must get more wood."

The roar of wind almost drowned his voice, and the birch logs seemed to
tremble under the impact of the blast, while Maud Barrington shivered
as she asked, "Is it safe?"

"It is necessary," said Winston, with the little laugh she had already
found reassuring.

He had gone out in another minute, and the girl felt curiously lonely
as she remembered stories of men who had left their homesteads during a
blizzard to see to the safety of the horses in a neighboring stable,
and were found afterwards as still as the snow that covered them. Maud
Barrington was not unduly timorous, but the roar of that awful icy gale
would have stricken dismay into the hearts of most men, and she found
herself glancing with feverish impatience at a diminutive gold watch
and wondering whether the cold had retarded its progress. Ten minutes
passed very slowly, lengthened to twenty more slowly still, and then it
flashed upon her that there was at least something she could do, and
scraping up a little of the snow that sifted in, she melted it in the
can. Then she set the flask top upon the stove, and once more listened
for the man's footsteps very eagerly.

She did not hear them, but at last the door swung open, and carrying a
load of birch branches Winston staggered in. He dropped them, strove
to close the door and failed, then leaned against it, gasping, with a
livid face, for there are few men who can withstand the cold of a
snow-laden gale at forty degrees below.

How Maud Barrington closed the door she did not know, but it was with a
little imperious gesture she turned to the man.

"Shake those furs at once," she said, and drawing him towards the stove
held up the steaming cup. "Now sit there, and drink it."

Winston stooped and reached out for the can, but the girl swept it off
the stove. "Oh, I know the silver w