She had watched beside him the whole night; and now she beheld a
sinister change in his condition. He was still unconscious, but he no
longer drew his breath at long intervals, softly and quietly. He was
breathing in short, troubled gasps, and an ominous red glow was in his
cheeks. She touched his brow, only to find it burning with fever.

The fact was not hard to understand. The downpour of cold rain in which
he had lain, wounded, for so many hours had drawn the life heat out of
him, and some organic malady had combined with his bodily injuries to
strike out his life. Her predicament was one of absolute helplessness.
She was hundreds of miles--weary weeks of march--from medical attention,
and she could neither leave him nor carry him. The wilderness forces,
resenting the intrusion into their secret depths, had seemingly taken
full vengeance at last. They had seemingly closed all gates to life and
safety. They had set the trap with care; and the cruel jaws had sprung.

She sat dry-eyed, incoherent prayers at her trembling lips. Mostly she
did not touch the man, only sat at his bedside in the crude chair Ben
had fashioned for her while the minutes rolled into hours and the hours
sped the night away,--in tireless vigil, watching with lightless eyes.
Once she bent and touched her lips to his.

They were not cold now. They were warm with fever. But in the strange
twilight-world of unconsciousness he could neither know of nor respond
to her kiss. She patted down his covering and sometimes held his hard
hands warm between hers, as if she could thus keep death from seizing
them and leading him away. But her courage did not break again.

The wan light showed her his drawn face; and just for an instant her
arms pressed about it. "I won't give up, Ben," she promised. "I'll keep
on fighting--to the last minute. And maybe I can pull you through."

Beatrice meant exactly what she said: to the last minute. That did not
mean to the gray hour when, by all dictate of common sense, further
fight is useless. She meant that she would battle tirelessly as long as
one pale spark glowed in his spirit, as long as his breath could cloud a
glass. The best thing for her now, however, was rest. She was exhausted
by the strain of the night; and she must save herself for the crisis
that was sure to come. Ben was sleeping easily now; the instant when his
life hung in the balance still impended.

She built up the fire, put on water to heat, cov