Her eyes were nearly closed by the swollen flesh, and she laid handfuls of snow upon her face, to cool the inflamation. At first, her movements were uncertain, expressing a fierce conflict, a painful irresolution of feeling; she picked up the hunting-knife, looked at it with a ghastly smile, and then threw it from her. Suddenly, however, her features changed, and every trace of her former hesitation vanished. After hurriedly eating the fragments left from Sandy's breakfast, she issued from the cabin and took a straight and rapid course eastward, up and over the hill. During the rest of that day and the greater part of the next, the cabin was deserted. It was almost sunset, and not more than an hour before Sandy Flash's promised return, when Deb. Smith again made her appearance. Her face was pale, (except for the dark blotches around the eyes,) worn, and haggard; she seemed to have grown ten years older in the interval. Her first care was to rekindle the fire and place the replenished jug in its accustomed place. Then she arranged and rearranged the rude blocks which served for seats, the few dishes and the articles of food on the shelf, and, when all had been done, paced back and forth along the narrow floor, as if pushed by some invisible, tormenting power. Finally a whistle was heard, and in a minute afterwards Sandy Flash entered the door. The bright blaze of the hearth shone upon his bold, daring, triumphant face. “That's right, Deb.,” he said. “I'm dry and hungry, and here's a rabbit you can skin and set to broil in no time. Let's look at you, old gal! The devil!--I didn't mean to mark you like that. Well, bygones is bygones, and better times is a-comin'.” “Sandy!” she cried, with a sudden, appealing energy, “Sandy--once't more! Won't you do for me what I want o' you?” His face darkened in an instant. “Deb!” was all the word he uttered, but she understood the tone. He took off his pistol-belt and laid it on the shelf. “Lay there, pets!” he said; “I won't want you to-night. A long tramp it was, and I'm glad it's over. Deb., I guess I've nigh tore off one o' my knee-buckles, comin' through the woods.” Placing his foot upon one of the logs, he bent down to examine the buckle. Quick as lightning, Deb., who was standing behind him, seized each of his arms, just above the elbows, with her powerful hands, and drew them towards each other upon his back. At the same time she uttered a shrill, wild cry,--a scream so strange and unearthly in its character that Sandy Flash's blood chilled to hear it. “Curse you, Deb., what are you doing? Are you clean mad?” he ejaculated, struggling violently to free his arms. “Which is strongest now?” she asked; “my arms, or your'n? I've got you, I'll hold you, and I'll only let go when I please!”