Morgantown he had to brace his
nerve mightily to withstand it.

She said: "You can't budge the tree?"

"Yes--in a minute; I will try again."

"You'll only hurt yourself for nothing. I saw how you strained at it."

The greatest miracle he had ever seen was her calm. Her eyes were wide
and sorrowful indeed, but she was almost smiling up to him.

After a while he was able to say, in a faint, small voice: "Are you
very cold?"

She answered: "I'm not afraid. But if you stay longer with me, you may
freeze. The snow and even the tree help to keep me almost warm; but
you will freeze. Go for help; hurry, and if you can, send it back to
me."

He thought of the long miles back to Morgantown; no human being could
walk that distance against this wind; not even a strong horse could
make its way through the storm. If he went on with the wind, how long
would it be before he reached a house? Before him, over range after
range of hills, he saw no single sign of a building. If he reached
some such place it would be the same story as the trip to Morgantown;
men simply could not beat a way against that wind.

Then a cold hand touched his, and he looked up to find her eyes grave
and wide once more, and her lips half smiling, as if she strove to
deceive him.

"There's no chance of bringing help?"

He merely stared hungrily at her, and the loveliest thing he had ever
seen was the play of golden hair beside her cheek. Her smile went out.
She withdrew her hand, but she repeated:

"I'm not afraid. I'll simply grow numb and then fall asleep. But you
go on and save yourself."

Seeing him shake his head, she caught his hands again, and so strongly
that the chill of her touch filled his veins with an icy fire.

"I'll be unhappy. You'll make me so unhappy if you stay. Please go."

He raised the small, white hand and pressed it to his lips.

She said: "You are crying!"

"No, no!"

"There! I see the tears shining on my hand. What is your name?"

"Pierre."

"Pierre? I like that name. Pierre, to make me happy, will you go?
Your face is all white and touched with a shadow of blue. It is the
cold. Oh, won't you go?" Then she pleaded, finding him obdurate: "If
you won't go for me, then go for your father."

He raised his head with a sudden laughter, and, raising it, the wind
beat into his face fiercely and the particles of snow whipped his skin.

"Dear Pierre, then for your mother?"

He bowed his head.

"No