Yet, too, life had never been more confused. Roxie clung to him now like a child in alarm. After her confession, she abandoned herself utterly to her emotions--quite trustfully, without a trace either of fear or reserve. Yet she did not seem bold. Her sincerity saved her from that. They had retreated into the far corner to the left of the fireplace, out of range of any window, and here they sat down upon the floor. This child-woman snuggled up to him kitten-wise, her head upon his shoulder. And he placed his arm about her, knowing her as half child and half woman; more child than most children, more woman than most women. So, a thousand years ago, he might have sat in some cave guarding his woman against the entrance of wild beasts. Inhaling the incense of her hair, feeling the quick beating of her heart, conscious of the love which had already sacrificed so much for him, which was ready to sacrifice so much more, it was difficult to drag himself back to the present; difficult to see straight. Yet that is what he must do--whether he lived on or not. To see straight while he did live was more important than living on. And in this crisis the calm, steady brown eyes of Wilmer Howe came to help him. He had not forgotten her. Something of her presence had been with him all the evening. He had felt it again and again, though in the turmoil of vivid details which followed so swiftly one after another he had not always visualized her. And it had not been easy either to tell just what part she was playing in this isolated drama up in these black hills. Their relations had been so purely intellectual that it was difficult to fit her into action so largely physical--the clash of body against body rather than mind against mind. But now, it seemed almost as though she were standing before him, a silent onlooker. The suggestion was startling enough at first. It sent the blood to his cheeks. And then he found himself meeting her imagined gaze quite coolly. There was nothing here of which he need feel ashamed even before her. It was very quiet inside the shack. Outside the wind was still reeling in and out among the trees boisterously as a drunken sailor, but distinctly it was outside. The doors were safely barred. The gale scarcely stirred the dark within save when occasionally it puffed down the chimney and revived into a glow the dying embers. And the girl in his arms lay very still like one not daring to move for fear of breaking a spell. It was only a few hours ago that Allston had left Wilmer, but he felt as though days must have passed. Yet less than five hours before, she had lighted her candle and excusing herself had gone upstairs to her room. He had watched her pretty feet as they twinkled out of sight. A half-hour later, he had no doubt, she was sound asleep.