He knew now whence the duck had flown! He knew now why he had not seen the watercourse before! He knew now where the birds and beasts had betaken themselves--why the woods and cañons were trackless! Here was at last the open road! He staggered to his feet with a cry of delight. "Grace, we are saved." Grace looked at him with eyes that perhaps spoke more eloquently of joy at his recovery than of comprehension of his delight. "Look, Grace! this is Nature's own road--only a lane, perhaps--but a clue to our way out of this wilderness. As we descend the stream it will open into a broader valley." "I know it," she said, simply. Philip looked at her inquiringly. "When I dragged you out of the way of the falling rocks and snow above, I had a glimpse of the valley you speak of. I saw it from there." She pointed to a ledge of rock above the opening where the great stone that had fallen had lodged. "When you dragged me, my child?" Grace smiled faintly. "You don't know how strong I am," she said, and then proved it by fainting dead away. Philip started to his feet and ran to her side. Then he felt for the precious flask that he had preserved so sacredly through all their hardships, but it was gone. He glanced around him; it was lying on the snow, empty! For the first time in their weary pilgrimage Philip uttered a groan. At the sound Grace opened her sweet eyes. She saw her lover with the empty flask in his hand, and smiled faintly. "I poured it all down your throat, dear," she said. "You looked so faint--I thought you were dying--forgive me!" "But I was only stunned; and you, Grace, you"---- "Am better now," she said, as she strove to rise. But she uttered a weak little cry and fell back again. Philip did not hear her. He was already climbing the ledge she had spoken of. When he returned his face was joyous. "I see it, Grace; it is only a few miles away. It is still light, and we shall camp there to-night." "I am afraid--not--dear Philip," said Grace, doubtfully. "Why not?" asked Philip, a little impatiently. "Because--I--think--my leg is broken!" "Grace!" But she had fainted. CHAPTER V. OUT OF THE WOODS--INTO THE SHADOW. Happily Grace was wrong. Her ankle was severely sprained, and she could not stand. Philip tore up his shirt, and, with bandages dipped in snow water, wrapped up the swollen limb. Then he knocked over a quail in the bushes and another duck, and clearing away the brush for a camping spot, built a fire, and tempted the young girl with a hot supper. The peril of starvation passed, their greatest danger was over--a few days longer of enforced rest and inactivity was the worst to be feared. The air had grown singularly milder with the last few hours. At midnight a damp breeze stirred the pine needles above their heads, and an ominous muffled beating was heard upon the snow-packed vault. It was rain. "It is the reveille of spring!" whispered Philip.