"Never mind, Billy, it's _all_ right now. Just remember that. Kiss me Billy." And Billy kissed her like the true gentleman he was on the way to being. Then Joyce, with her shabby baggage, and basket of provisions went on alone. She was stiff and cold, and her heart was like lead within her. With surprise she noticed that the door of the hut was partly open, and the snow had drifted in. It was dark and lifeless apparently, and for a moment Joyce thought that Jude had gone away, and she turned to recall Billy before it was too late. Then she boldly entered the house. The little entry was covered with snow and the room door, too, stood as the outer one did, ajar. Joyce paused and listened--then a horrible fear took possession of her. The still house overpowered her for a moment, but she knew that death awaited her in the outer cold and loneliness, so by superhuman determination she felt her way toward the fireplace--she had been in the hut more than once and memory served her now. She forced herself to think only of lighting the fire. Even when she struck a match she would glance nowhere but at the hearth. Her teeth were set close, and her breath hardly stirred her bosom. There had been a fire recently--but the ashes were cold. There was, however, wood nearby, and Joyce tore the paper from one of her packages and used it to ignite the smaller wood. There was a puff, a flare, and the wood caught. With the growing heat and light a semblance of courage returned, still Joyce kept her eyes rigidly upon her task. She laid on more wood, and yet more. It was past midnight and the terrible stillness Was numbing her reason. Presently she cautiously turned--something compelled her. She did not expect to find--anything, but she had to look! Away from the red glare, the shadows concealed their secrets from the fear-haunted eyes, but only for a moment. Jude was there! He was lying stretched upon the floor. A bottle was near his outspread hand. He was asleep. Joyce did not try to get upon her feet, but she crept toward the still form. She touched, with stiff fingers, the hand of the man she had come to meet--the man who was to save her from her love. "Jude!" she whispered hoarsely; "Jude!" A falling log started the others to a redder glow. The face of the man upon the floor lay exposed. The eyes were open--but unseeing, and Joyce knew that Jude was frozen to death! She made no cry. Had she been capable of sensation she would have gone mad, but she was conscious of no emotion whatever. The room grew hotter and brighter. She drew away from that horrible shape upon the floor. She must forget it or her head would burst. In the morning, and it would soon be morning, she could go for help--but for now she must forget. Still creeping, she regained the fireplace; there she huddled with her back to--that long black shadow. Yes; it was but a shadow. She would not think of it but as a shadow.