pools of water; once more I halted in front of that
perilous ice-ridge, with my back to the driving storm and my eyes
searching anxiously for a way of progress. The frowning cliff, with its
flag floating out stiff in the tempest, the dim shore opposite, the
dark horizon, the low moan of the river as it struggled against its icy
burden, all these came back again. Then, through all this, I rushed
forward, scrambling over the ice-ridge, reaching the opposite plain to
hurry forward to the shore. Then came the rushing sleigh, the recoiling
horse, the swift retreat, the mad race along the brink of the icy edge,
the terrible plunge into the deep, dark water. Then came the wild,
half-human shriek of the drowning horse, and the sleigh with its
despairing freight drifting down toward me. Through all this there
broke forth amid the clouds of that reverie, the vision of that pale,
agonized face, with its white lips and imploring eyes--the face of her
whom I had saved.

So I had saved her, had I? Yes, there was no doubt of that. Never
would I lose the memory of that unparalleled journey to Montmorency
Fall, as I toiled on, dragging with me that frail, fainting, despairing
companion. I had sustained her; I had cheered her; I had stimulated
her; and, finally, at that supreme moment, when, she fell down in sight
of the goal, I had put forth the last vestige of my own strength in
bearing her to a place of safety.

And so she had left me.

Left me--without a word--without a hint--without the remotest sign of
any thing like recognition, not to speak of gratitude!

_Pas un mot_!

Should I ever see her again?

This question, which was very natural under the circumstances, caused
me to make an effort to recall the features of my late companion.
Strange to say, my effort was not particularly successful. A white,
agonized face was all that I remembered, and afterward a white,
senseless face, belonging to a prostrate figure, which I was trying to
raise. This was all. What that face might look like in repose, I found
it impossible to conjecture.

And now here was a ridiculous and mortifying fact. I found myself
haunted by this white face and these despairing eyes, yet for the life
of me I could not reduce that face to a natural expression so as to
learn what it might look like in common life. Should I know her again
if I met her? I could not say. Would she know me? I could not answer
that. Should I ever be able to find her? How could I