He extended a firm hand. He meant to clutch the man, shove him behind, and keep him there. But at that moment the ice began to give under Lawson’s clumsy feet. A look of blank, piteous helplessness came into his drunken eyes as he felt the treacherous ice sinking beneath him. He tottered, then, with frantic, unthinking haste, and sprang to the plank, but it, too, began to sink. He laid desperate hold of the girl. “Save me!” he shrieked. Louise was conscious only of a quick, awful terror, a dreadful horror of swaying and sinking, and then she was muffled against a rough coat, strong arms clasped her tightly and bore her backward. Shivering, she hid her face in the coat, clutching the lapels with nervous strength. “You’ll spoil your Sunday clothes,” she moaned, trying desperately to be calm and sensible. And Gordon held her at last as he had dreamed in his mad moments of holding her—close against his heart—in the place he had not dared to tell her he had already put her. His face was pressed against the fair hair that he had longed with an indescribable longing to caress such a short time ago. His lips brushed the soft strands with infinite tenderness. Now was his dream come true. This day was his. No one might take it from him. To-morrow,—but that was to-morrow. To-day was his. He would live it to the end. Closer he held her,—the dear woman,—there was no one else in all the world. When he released her, she was confronting a man whose face was as white as the ice around them. “Is this—the last of us?” she questioned, tremulously. He flung his arm over her shoulders again. He did not know exactly what he did. Men were coming forward rapidly, aware that a great tragedy had threatened, had been averted. Dale was hastily retracing his steps. Lawson had crawled to a place of safety on a forward plank after having been flung out of the way by Gordon in his swift rush for Louise. He was grinning foolishly, but was partially sobered by the shock. “Back! All of you!” cried Gordon, imperiously. He was very pale, but he had regained his self-control. “Idiots! Do you want another accident? Back to your places! We’ll have to go around.” The ice was broken in many spots. Louise had really gone through, but so quick had been her rescue that she escaped with wet feet only. By making a portable bridge of two of the planks, they skirted the yawning hole in safety. It was a more dangerous undertaking now that two must stand on a plank at the same time. Luckily, the greater number were ahead when the accident occurred. It was not much past noon,—but Gordon’s day was ended. It was as if the sun had gone down on it. He found no opportunity to speak to Louise again, and the to-morrow, his to-morrow, had come. But the one day had been worth while. CHAPTER XV THE GAME IS ON