Drusy sat silent and motionless in the bottom of the sled, while Barker stood, tall and grim, beside her, holding the reins with a careful hand. It was necessary for him to stand, that he might be able to see the cradle-holes and humps in the road ahead of them, he said. The moon had disappeared when they entered the woods, and the dense darkness was only broken by an occasional star-gleam overhead and the red light of the lantern which hung on one of the stakes of the sled. "Drusy, did you care fur thet man thet's sick out ter the camp--your--husban'?" said Barker, breaking the silence in a hesitating tone. "Oh, I did once, John, but he treated me badly; he--" Her voice broke in a great sob; and after that neither spoke until they reached the camp, though it was nearly an hour later. The way was long and rough, and the night was growing intensely cold. Once or twice he bent down and tucked the robes more closely about her. But she did not heed the cold: she was lost in her own thoughts. The camp, which they reached just before midnight, made a bright spot in the darkness of the woods. The fire-light shone through every chink in its dark logs, making red bars upon the snow. The sick man was sleeping, and by his side sat the cook, who was acting as nurse, an old man who had been a sailor and wore gold rings in his ears. He was sleeping also, and from two bunks on the opposite side of the camp came the audible evidence that others were in a like condition. "Oh, he can't be so very bad: he can't be dying," said Drusy, seating herself on the deacon-seat at the foot of the sick man's bed and peering anxiously into his pinched and pallid face, which was illuminated by the rays of the great fire. "'Pears ter be more comfortable; the fever's kind er left him; but the doctor says he's goin' fast. Sleeps 'most all the time now, but he's mostly out of his head yit, pore feller! I hain't seen him ser quiet's he is now fur days," said the old man drowsily. Barker, having put up his horse, seated himself beside the cook, who speedily relapsed into slumber again, his grizzly head drooping upon his breast. Drusy crept on to the edge of the bunk and softly wiped away the heavy moisture from the dying man's brow. He tossed uneasily upon his bed of hemlock boughs, but did not waken: his breathing was a perpetual moan, his fingers picked restlessly at the bedclothing. The wind rose and stirred about the camp like the rustle of mysterious garments, and blew fitfully the varied pipes in the pine boughs. The great logs on the fire were dropping to scarlet coals, but Barker hastened to pile on more fuel, though there was still sufficient warmth from the huge pile. And so the night wore on. Toward morning the sick man opened his eyes and fixed them steadily upon Drusy's face. "Do you know me, Seth?" she asked, taking his hand within her own.