He rose, his face working. “I MUST go, child. It’s the thing to do. I wish to Heaven it weren’t. You must think of yourself as quite safe here. You ARE safe. Don’t make it hard for me to go, dear.” “I AM a coward. But I can’t help it. There is so much snow—and the mountains are so big.” She tried valiantly to crush down her sobs. “But go. I’ll—I’ll not be afraid.” He buried her little hands in his two big ones and looked deep into her eyes. “Every minute of the time I am away from you I shall be with you in spirit. You’ll not be alone any minute of the day or night. Whether you are awake or asleep I shall be with you.” “I’ll try to remember that,” she answered, smiling up at him but with a trembling lip. She put him up some lunch while he made his simple preparations. To the end of the trench she walked with him, neither of them saying a word. The moment of parting had come. She looked up at him with a crooked wavering little smile. She wanted to be brave, but she could not trust herself to say a word. “Remember, dear. I am not leaving you. My body has gone on an errand. That is all.” Just now she found small comfort in this sophistry, but she did not tell him so. “I—I’ll remember.” She gulped down a sob and still smiled through the mist that filmed her sight. In his face she could see how much he was moved at her distress. Always a creature of impulse, one mastered her now, the need to let her weakness rest on his strength. Her arms slipped quickly round his neck and her head lay buried on his shoulder. He held her tight, eyes shining, the desire of her held in leash behind set teeth, the while sobs shook her soft round body in gusts. “My lamb—my sweet precious lamb,” she heard him murmur in anguish. From some deep sex trait it comforted her that he suffered. With the mother instinct she began to regain control of herself that she might help him. “It will not be for long,” she assured him. “And every step of your way I shall pray for, your safety,” she whispered. He held her at arm’s length while his gaze devoured her, then silently he wheeled away and plunged waist deep into the drifts. As long as he was in sight he saw her standing there, waving her handkerchief to him in encouragement. Her slight, dark figure, outlined against the snow, was the last thing his eyes fell upon before he turned a corner of the gulch and dropped downward toward the plains. But when he was surely gone, after one fearful look at the white sea which encompassed her, the girl fled to the cabin, slammed the door after her, and flung herself on the bed to weep out her lonely terror in an ecstasy of tears. She had spent the first violence of her grief, and was sitting crouched on the rug before the open fire when the sound of a footstep, crunching the snow, startled her. The door opened, to let in the man who had just left her. “You are back—already,” she cried, her tear? stained face lifted toward him.