She kissed him over and over--on the lips, on his closed eyes. She pressed his head against her soft breast, as if her fluttering heart would give some of its life to him. _Dead?_ Was that it? All at once she set to work to win back her self-control. It might not yet be too late to help. She gripped herself, dispelling at once all hysteria, all her vagrant thoughts. He would have been hard at work long since. His face was still warm--perhaps life had not yet passed. She put her head to his breast. His heart was beating--slowly, but steadily and strong. XXVI Bill had not been lying long inert in the snow. Otherwise Virginia would not have heard his heart thumping so steadily in his breast. In fact, she was almost on the top of the ridge when he had given up. He had just drifted off to sleep when she reached his side. And now he thought he was in the midst of some wonderful, glorious dream. Death was being merciful, after all: in the moment of its descent it was giving him the image of his fondest dream. It seemed to him that soft, warm arms were about him, that his head was pillowed against a tenderness, a holiness passing understanding. He didn't want the dream to end. It would in a moment, the darkness would drop over him; but even for the breath that it endured it almost atoned for the full travail of his life. There were kisses, too. They came so softly, so warm, just as he had dreamed. "Virginia," he whispered. "Is it you, Virginia--come to me----?" Then, so clearly that he could no longer retain the delusion of dream, he heard his answer. "Yes--and I've come to save you." It was true. Her arms were about him; he was nestled against her breast. Yet the kisses must have been only a dream that was worth death to gain. She was at work on him now. He felt her swift motions; now she was putting a flask to his lips. A burning liquid poured into his throat. There ensued a moment of indescribable peace, and then the flask was put to his lips again. The inner forces of his body, fighting still for his life even after he had given up, seized quickly upon the warming liquor, forced it into his blood, and drove away the frost that was beginning to congeal his life fluids. Already he felt a new stir in his veins. He struggled to speak. "No yet," the girl whispered. "Don't make any effort yet." She gave him more of the liquor. He felt strength returning to his muscles. He tried to open his eyes. The sharp pain was a swift reminder of his blindness. "I'm blind----" he told her. "No matter, I'll save you." Even his blindness would not put a barrier between them. One glance at the inflamed lids, however, told her that in all probability it was just a temporary blindness from some great irritation, soon to be dispelled. "Can you eat?" she asked. The man nodded.