shapes in his beard grew more and more fantastic, the white cone on her
hat grew taller, and then broke and tumbled into her lap; the horses
bent their heads, all caked with snow, and cantered pluckily on.

They had passed the gate of the ranch, leaving it open behind them, and
now there were but a couple of miles between them and the town. The
snow was so blinding that they did not see a group of buckboards and
saddle-horses under a shed close at hand, nor guess that some of the
party had found shelter in a house near by. They rode swiftly on,
gaining in speed as they approached the town. The horses were very close
together, straining, side by side, toward the goal. Amy's right hand lay
upon her knee, the stiff fingers closed about the riding-crop. If she
had thought about it at all, she would have said that her hand was
absolutely numb. Suddenly, with a shock, she felt another hand close
upon it, while the words, "_my darling!_" vibrated upon her ear; the
voice was so close that it seemed to touch her cheek. She started as if
she had been stung.

"Oh, my riding-crop!" she cried, letting the handle slip from her grasp.

"I beg your pardon," Stephen gasped, in a low, pained tone. "If you will
wait an instant, I will get it for you!"

He turned his horse about, for they had passed the spot by several
lengths.

Sunbeam stood for a moment, obedient to his rider's hand, while Amy
watched the storm close in about her departing cavalier. As he vanished
from view, a sudden, overpowering impulse of flight seized her. Without
daring to think of what she was doing, she bent down and whispered
"_go!_" in the low sharp tone that Sunbeam knew. He was off like a shot.

"I don't care, I don't care," the girl said to herself, over and over
again, as they bounded forward in the teeth of the storm. "Better now
than later!"

She wondered whether Stephen would kill his horse endeavoring to
overtake her; she wondered whether he would ever overtake her again!
Somehow it seemed to her as if the storm had caught her up bodily and
were bearing her away from a very perplexing world. After all, what an
amenable, unexacting sort of thing a blizzard was! How very easy to deal
with! You had only to duck your head, and screw up your eyes, and cleave
your way through it, and on it went, quite unconcerned with your moods
and tenses! If Stephen Burns were only more like that, she thought to
herself! But, alas! poor Stephen, with all his strong c