"Why did he stir the fire, Grace?" said Devarges, with a suspicious glance. "I don't know." "You tell him everything--did you tell him that?" "I did not, sir." Devarges looked as if he would read the inmost thoughts of the girl, and then, as if reassured, said-- "Take it from the fire, and let it cool in the snow." The young girl raked away the embers of the dying fire, and disclosed what seemed to be a stone of the size of a hen's egg incandescent and glowing. With the aid of two half-burnt slicks she managed to extract it, and deposited it in a convenient snow-drift near the door, and then returned to the side of the old man. "Grace!" "Sir!" "You are going away!" Grace did not speak. "Don't deny it. I overheard you. Perhaps it is the best that you can do. But whether it is or not you will do it--of course. Grace, what do you know of that man?" Neither the contact of daily familiarity, the quality of suffering, nor the presence of approaching death, could subdue the woman's nature in Grace. She instantly raised her shield. From behind it she began to fence feebly with the dying man. "Why, what we all know of him, sir--a true friend; a man to whose courage, intellect, and endurance we owe so much. And so unselfish, sir!" "Humph!--what else?" "Nothing--except that he has always been your devoted friend--and I thought you were his. You brought him to us," she said a little viciously. "Yes--I picked him up at Sweetwater. But what do you know of his history? What has he told you?" "He ran away from a wicked stepfather and relations whom he hated. He came out West to live alone--among the Indians--or to seek his fortune in Oregon. He is very proud--you know, sir. He is as unlike us as you are, sir,--he is a gentleman. He is educated." "Yes, I believe that's what they call it here, and he doesn't know the petals of a flower from the stamens," muttered Devarges. "Well! After you run away with him does he propose to marry you?" For an instant a faint flush deepened the wan cheek of the girl, and she lost her guard. But the next moment she recovered it. "Oh, sir," said this arch hypocrite, sweetly, "how can you jest so cruelly at such a moment? The life of my dear brother and sister, the lives of the poor women in yonder hut, depend upon our going. He and I are the only ones left who have strength enough to make the trial. I can assist him, for, although strong, I require less to support my strength than he. Something tells me we shall be successful; we shall return soon with help. Oh, sir,--it is no time for trifling now; our lives--even your own is at stake!" "My own life," said the old man, impassively, "is already spent. Before you return, if you return at all, I shall be beyond your help." A spasm of pain appeared to pass over his face. He lay still for a moment as if to concentrate his strength for a further effort. But when he again spoke his voice was much lower, and he seemed to articulate with difficulty.