Also, he had tried to lessen the dread monotony that encompassed them. There was nothing they could do. Beyond the mechanical tasks of eating, or of cooking and sleeping, of plunging outside to the water hole for water, or of caring for the horses and bringing wood for the fire, there was no diversion except that of talking. And, as the days dragged and the storm did not abate, even talking began to irk Lawler. There would be periods during which they would be silent, listening to the howling and moaning of the wind--hours at a stretch when the cold outside would seem to threaten, to tighten its constricting circle, when a great awe oppressed them; when it seemed that the whole world was snowbound, and that it would keep piling over and around them and all life would be extinct. It was on the morning of the tenth day that Lawler began to notice that the dread monotony and the white, ever-present menace were beginning to affect the girl. Her face was white and in her eyes was a haunting gleam of fear. He noted how she clasped her hands; how she nervously twined and untwined her fingers, and how she kept pushing her chair toward him, as though for protection. A swift sympathy seized him; he laughed, lowly, reaching out a hand and laying it lightly on her shoulder as she started at the sound of his voice and drew a quick, startled breath. "Oh!" she said; "will it never end?" "It can't last much longer, Miss Wharton," he smiled. "It has held on longer, now, than it should at this season." The sound of his voice reassured her--it was calm, quiet, confident. Some color came back into her face, and she smiled. "I believe I was beginning to get the doldrums," she said. "That wouldn't be startling, Miss Wharton. Life in a line camp does become monotonous. It is to be expected. It becomes tragic. Also, it has a humorous side--viewed from a distance--chiefly afterward. In the fall, men go into line camps fast friends. We always pair them that way. Any other method would be fatal, for when the men come out in the spring they invariably are deadly enemies. You can imagine what would happen if we sent into a line cabin two men who did not think well of each other." She shuddered and snuggled closer to him, letting her head fall to his shoulder. A pulse of pity stirred him, and he permitted her head to stay where she had laid it, while he gently smoothed her hair. He would have done as much for any woman in her position; the emotion that filled him was entirely that of pity. She was vain and frivolous--employing every artifice, but she was a woman despite that, and entitled, in the present circumstances, to what comfort and sympathy he could give her. However, to Della, the moment of victory was at hand. She _had_ been a trifle worried just an instant before; and the white world outside _had_ seemed to threaten to rush in and crush out her life--the life she loved so well--and she had been just a little afraid.