"Now, Mr. Spoof--now for you!" I snapped to myself. I had a revolver, an old rusty weapon which I never used, but which I kept lying around in case of something which I called an emergency. Clearly this was it. I found it and some cartridges and thrust them into my overcoat pocket; then drew it out and studied it with a peculiar sort of fascination. "Don't be a fool," I enjoined myself, as I threw it on the bed. But in a moment I picked it up again and put it in my pocket. Outside the snow was flying in a sifting wind from the north-west. It was not a blizzard; it was not even a storm, but it had the threat of both. The sun was not up, and the grey light of dawn penetrated the snow waste not more than a dozen yards. I studied the wind for a moment, to make sure that it was blowing steadily in one direction; having satisfied myself as to this, my problem--one of my problems--was much simplified. Carrying the wind over my right shoulder I bore off toward the south and section Two. The trail to Spoof's had been entirely obliterated in its weeks of non-usage, and I could do nothing better than follow my sense of direction. It became apparent that the sky was too overcast to give me any benefit from the sun, although the grey circle of dawn gradually grew until the vision would carry a hundred yards or so. For the most part the crust bore me, but here and there it gave away, and once or twice sent me floundering on my face. On such occasions I was careful to test my direction by the wind before continuing. If the wind should veer I had a good chance of wandering off into the wilderness--and the unknown. That, too, was the chance which Jean had taken. It bore more and more heavily upon me as I plodded through that measureless waste of snow. I had no doubt that she had started for Spoof's; whether she ever had reached there was another question. She was able to stand his neglect no longer--she was bound to have it out with him, just as, yesterday, I had been bound to have it out with her. . . . . . . . At moments I wished that she might not find Spoof's. At moments it seemed that almost anything was better than that. There was the possibility that she might strike a circle and wander about on these vacant sections. It was not very cold; she would not freeze until exhaustion overcame her. Possibly even now she was wandering in these milky mists, even within earshot of me. "Jean! Jean!" I cried, raising my voice against the buffeting of the wind, but it died unechoed in the void of space.