h the room and Pearl, cheered and
restored more by that homely and familiar radiance than by any words of
comfort he might have uttered, gradually sank further and further back
in her chair and presently closed her eyes. It seemed to him that she
slept. At first her rest was fitful, broken by exclamations and starts,
but each time that she opened her eyes she saw the familiar and
unchanged surroundings, and Seagreave sitting near her; and, reassured,
her sleep became more natural and restful.

When she awoke it was to find herself alone. Seagreave had left, but she
could hear him moving about in the next room, near at hand if she needed
him. He was evidently bringing in some logs for the fire.

"As if nothing had happened," she muttered, "and things will go on just
the same. We shall eat; we shall sleep. How can it be?"

She got up and began to walk up and down the room. She was young, she
was strong, and the shock of those few moments of wonder and horror had
almost worn off. Her active brain was alert and normal again, and she
thought deeply as she walked to and fro, considering all possible phases
of her present situation.

Then, ceasing to pace back and forth, she leaned against the window and
looked out. The strange, new world lay before her, an earth bereft of
its familiar forests, and which must send forth from its teeming heart a
new growth of tender, springtime shoots to cover its nakedness. And as
she gazed the sun burst through the gray clouds and poured down upon the
wide, bare hillside an unbroken flood of golden splendor.

Hearing a slight sound behind her, she turned quickly. Seagreave had
entered and, approaching the window, stood looking at the white sloping
plain without.

"I couldn't chop any more wood," he said. "It seemed too commonplace
after this thing that we have seen. But you--how are you?"

"I'm all right," she returned. But she did not meet his eyes; her black
lashes lay long on her cheek; her cheek burned. She realized in a
confused way that there was some change in their relative positions. She
had always felt because of his reticence, his withdrawal into self, his
diffidence in approaching her, easily mistress of any situation which
might arise between them; but since those moments when they two had
gazed upon the avalanche, and she in her terror had flung herself upon
his breast, and had wrapped her arms about him and buried her face in
his shoulder, he had assumed not only the ton