She knew life now, this girl of cities. She knew that in her past life she had never really lived: she had only moved in a gentle dream that an artificial civilization had made possible. The gayeties, the culture, the luxuries and the fashions that had seemed so real and so essential before were revealed in their true light, only as dreams that would pass: deep in them she had never heard the crash of armor in the battlefields without her bower. But she knew now. She saw life as it was, stark and cruel, remorseless, pitiless to the weak, treacherous to the strong, ever waging war against all creatures that dwelt upon the earth. Yet so easily could it have been redeemed! If this man were standing strong beside her, life would be nothing to fear, nothing to appall her spirit. All the ancient persecutions of the elements, all the pitfalls of life and the exigencies of fortune could never bow their heads. Instead they would know high adventure and the exhilaration of battle; even if at the day's end they should go down into death, it would be with unbroken spirits and brave hearts. But she couldn't stand alone! She needed the touch of his hand, his shoulder against hers, the communion of his spirit and his strength. Life was an appalling thing to face alone! There was no joy now in the punishing cold and the wastes of forest; only sadness and fear and despair. Sitting in the snow, his head and shoulders in her arms, she knew a fear and a loneliness undreamed of before, a loss that could never be atoned for or redeemed. She too knew the lesson that Bill had learned in his hour of bitterness,--that one moment of heaven may atone for a whole life of struggle and sorrow. One clasp of arms, one whispered message, one mighty impulse of the soul in which eternity is seized and the stars are gathered might glorify the whole bitter struggle of existence. One little kiss might pay for it all. Yet for all that Harold still lived and waited for her in the cabin, she felt that this one little instant of resurrection was irrevocably lost. It seemed so strange to her that he should be lying here, impotent in her arms. Always he had been so strong, he had stood so straight,--always coming to her aid in a second of need, always strengthening her with his smile and his eyes. She could hardly believe that this was he,--never to cheer her again in their hard tramps, to lend her his mighty strength in a moment of crisis, to laugh with her at some little tragedy. She sobbed softly, and her tears lay on his face. "Bill, oh, Bill, won't you wake up and speak to me?" she cried. She pleaded softly, but he didn't seem to hear. "Come back to me, Bill--I need you," she told him. He had always been so quick to come when she needed him before now. "Are you _dead?_-- Oh, you couldn't be _dead!_ It's so cold--and I'm afraid. Oh, please open your eyes----"