nevitably have been
concessions and compromises but between these two there remained a
barrier that might have been passed by Marion's unquestioning love,
but never by Haig's inclinations, curbed as they had been through many
years, and still reined in by his distrust.

The day came when it seemed safe for Haig to stand and to move a
little about the cave. He had fashioned slowly a pair of rude
crutches, if they could be so called,--two pine limbs trimmed down
with his pocketknife, with their natural forks left to fit under his
arms. Marion protested that he was attempting this feat much too soon,
but she was compelled to watch him in an agony of suspense lest he
should fall on the hard floor of the cave, or rest his weight on the
injured leg, and so undo all that had cost them so much of care and
labor. But caution restrained him; for he was aware of the danger,
though he was also half-mad with impatience to be a man once more.
Venturing only a few tentative steps at first, he steadily accustomed
himself to movement with the aid of the awkward crutches, and in a few
days was able to take up some of the work of their wretched
habitation. Marion saw that this pleased him immensely, almost as if
he had been a boy entrusted with a man's responsibility; and once,
too, she saw him stand a long time before the row of notches on the
wall, and thought his figure straightened, and a flush came into his
pale cheek.

And then, in the sixth week of their imprisonment, Marion fell ill.
She had caught a cold, which was not the first by any means, but much
more severe than its predecessors. With watery eyes and red noses and
distressing coughs they had become familiar, but this was plainly a
more serious matter. For three days more she dragged herself about,
trying to conceal her state from him and from herself, but crying
softly when he did not see her.

One morning, as the dawn crept into the cavern, she tried as usual to
rise from her hard bed, and fell back with a stifled moan. Haig heard
her, and raised his head quickly, struck by an unaccustomed note in
her low cry.

"What is it, Marion?" he asked in alarm.

"It's no use, dear!" she whispered. "I can't get up."

For a moment he lay stricken, incapable of thought. Not that the event
was unexpected. He had been reckoning on that; he had seen her
steadily failing, and knew that she could not go on indefinitely under
such privations. And yet, when it came, it was appalling.