sed their heads, and at the first glance about
them, sat up staring.

The meadow lay white under its first coverlet of snow, the trees were
draped in their winter mantles, their very bed had its downy quilt of
snowflakes that had sifted through the branches of the tree.

"It's come," said Haig simply.

"Yes," she answered, in a voice that echoed a tragic calm.

"But it was due."

"Seth kept saying we'd have a hard and early winter."

"Huntington's not such a fool as he looks," retorted Haig drily, as he
lay back to look up resignedly into the foliage, where white now
mingled with the green.

For some time there was no more speech. Marion arose, and went
silently about her work. She heaped wood on the fire until the flames
leaped high, and the heat began to drive out the settled chill from
her limbs, and she could move again without dull pain. Then to the
brook; but her baths in the pool were ended. She washed face and
hands, and brought back the wet towel for Philip. And breakfast was
eaten almost in silence, and without appetite; for the good venison
that had so rejoiced them the night before had already lost its
flavor.

"Do you see the circles on the trees yonder, where the moss begins?"
asked Haig at length.

"Yes," Marion answered.

"That's the snow line. It will lie thirty feet deep here."

She had no answer to that. But she was thinking. There must be a way.
She had no idea what it would be; but there must be some way out of
it.

When the camp had been cleaned up, and the pan and cup had been washed
and put aside, and the fire replenished, she brought her rifle from
its place behind the tree.

"I'm going for a walk," she said.

"Where?"

"I don't know. Down along the cliff perhaps. I may see another deer."

"Yes. You might as well. Deer meat will keep--longer than we--"

He checked the unnecessary speech. She rewarded him with a smile and
left him.

And now he faced a curious situation within himself. He saw clearly,
but strangely without sensation, that it was too late for Marion to
attempt the passage of the mountain. Whatever chance she might have
had before--and that was perhaps even less than the one in a thousand
of which he had spoken--she had now no chance at all, supposing that
he should force her to seek it by measures of desperation. And why had
he delayed? He did not know. Had he weakened? Had his injuries taken
something from his courage? He drew his treasured knife from his