"And who is more worthy of it--of anybody's love--than you?" she replied, utilizing a sweetheart's way, much more effective than words, to stop his lips. Then she told him of his bravery, his tenderness and steadfastness; how there was no feeling of descent in giving her love to him. She told him that in fact his education was as good as hers if not superior, that his natural breeding and gentleness were the equal of that of any man that moved in her own circle. She could find protection and shelter in his strong arms, and in these months in the North she had learned that this was the most important thing of all. He could provide for her, too, with the wealth of his mine,--a point not to be forgotten. Her standards were true and sensible, she was down to the simple, primitive basis of things, and she did not forget that provision for his wife was man's first responsibility and the first duty of love. Only once did Bill leave her,--to cover the crack of the door and build up the fire. When he returned, her warm little flood of kisses was as if he had been absent for weary hours. But her thoughts had been busy, even in this moment. All at once she drew his ear close to her lips. "Bill, will you listen to me a minute?" she asked. "Listen! I'll listen to every word----" "Some way--I've taken fresh heart since we--since we found out we loved each other. It seems to me that this love wasn't given to us, only to have us die in a few days--from this awful wound and you from hunger. We're only three days' journey--and there must be some way out." "God knows I wish you could find one. But I can't see--and you don't know the way--and we have no food." "But listen--this wound isn't very bad. I know I can't walk--it will start bleeding if I do--but if I can get any attention at all soon, I know it won't be serious. Bill, have you found out--you can trust me, in a pinch?" Remembering that instant when the match had flared and her pistol had shot so remorselessly and so true, he didn't hesitate over his answer. "Sweetheart, I'd trust you to the last second." "Then trust me now. Listen to every word I say and do what I tell you. I think I know the way--at least a fighting chance--to life and safety." XXXIII Whispering eagerly, Virginia told Bill the plan that would give them their fighting chance. His mind, working clear and true, absorbed every detail. "It depends first," she said, "whether or not you can crawl through the little window of the cabin." Bill remembered his experience in the smoke-filled hut and he kissed her, smiling. "I've got into smaller places than that, in my time," he told her. "I can take the little window right out. I put it in myself." They were not so awed by their dilemma that they couldn't have gay words. "You got into my heart, too, Bill--a great dealer smaller place than the window," she whispered. "The next thing--are Harold's snowshoes in this room?"