ow standing and
ten from God's Voice.

Out of the cabin, on his hands and knees, crawled a man. He was
evidently badly frost-bitten, for he tried to drag himself upright by
the door-post, but failed miserably, falling forward along the ground.
As he lay there, he turned toward Granger a face which was
expressionless as if it had been covered with a mask of waxen leprosy;
it was frozen solid, as were his feet and hands. Granger knew, more by
the clothes than the ghastly features, that the man was Spurling.

He seemed now to have given up hope of standing erect, and began to
move painfully on all fours across the snow to where a log of rotten
wood was lying. Having reached it, he tried to raise it, but there was
not the strength in his hands. He tried to fasten his teeth upon it,
to drag it back with him; but his jaws seemed paralysed. Then he crept
back to the cabin.

Soon he came out again, and, having reached the log, commenced to
light it with a match. At first it refused to ignite, but when he had
pushed some broken twigs under it, it burst into flame. He bent over
it hungrily, drawing so near that Granger expected to see his clothing
catch fire.

Then, as he watched, he saw a second figure. It was that of a man,
dressed precisely as he himself was dressed, and his back was turned
towards him so that he could not discern his face; he carried in his
hand an axe. He moved stealthily on snowshoes, dodging from tree to
tree, lest he should be discovered by the crouching man. His intention
was so evidently evil, that Granger cried out a warning to save
Spurling. Murder, when watched in this way, was so brutal that, though
he himself had planned to do the deed, his whole moral nature
revolted against it now. He cried again, but his warning was not
heard. He wished that the man with the axe would turn his head, that
he might see his face.

A horrible, grotesque suspicion was growing up within him; he fancied
that he knew the man--that he had seen him before in the Klondike,
_that he was himself_. Spurling, quite unaware of his danger, was
holding out his hands to the flames; it was not until the man was
close behind him that be heard his footsteps and turned his head. His
face was frozen; the frost had bound him hand and foot, making him
defenceless, so that he could hardly stir; the only means of appeal he
had was the expression in his eyes.

Granger thought that he saw that expression--the cornered soul
gesticula