elow them stretched a plain of
shimmering frost-points, bounded by inscrutable walls of black timber.
Somewhere within the warmer heart of a swamp a fox yapped hungrily;
somewhere within her own heart his whimsical discourse had awakened a
sense of the mystery of his wilderness--its friendship for those who
love it--its implacable enmity for those who do not understand. And he
looked up just when that emotion came flooding into her face.

"It is wonderful--wonderful--wonderful!" she breathed, throwing out
both arms with that ecstatic impulsiveness which he knew so well. "Now
I know why you said men always return to it, once they have felt its
spell."

"You are lovelier than you know!" came back from him, almost gruffly
again; and she could not parry with lightness so swift and strained a
speech.

"You always tell me very pretty things," was all she could think of to
say in reply.

But then, rising, he flung back his head and shook himself as if
throwing off a burden too restraining and irksome. He laughed aloud,
and from that minute until he loosed her feet from the snowshoes he was
more like her "blue flannel and corduroy" lover again. But his attack
no longer made her fear herself.

"If I cared for you, yes," he made her admit before he would let her go
in that night. "If I cared for you, my engagement to no man could
stand in the way. But that is the reason I know I do not care."

She had seen him grave with doubt that night; seen him fight to shake
it off. There was doubt in his answer now.

"Because I am not----" But he could not force himself to ask it.

"Because I could never care as you would demand the woman should care
who marries you."

She wanted to help him a little, she didn't know just why. Pity is a
very dangerous emotion, when pity is not sought.

"You are loving me that way this minute," he said, but his words were
dogged. "Loving me more than you know."

There was neither reference to her letter nor mention of that night at
Thirty-Mile when she had stolen out to bid him good-bye. Other long
tramps followed, on other pale and zero nights, but his attitude
remained much the same. Whimsically at times he shared his innermost
thoughts with her; always he told her that he cared, with a gentleness
in the telling that made it hard for her to listen. Barbara least of
all realized what those days were doing to her, but before that week
had run its course even Caleb's eyes were opened