lay still, watching. She saw his
eyes open. And his first glance was toward her.

He flashed her a smile, and she tried pitifully to answer it. "How are
you?" he asked.

"Awfully lame and sore and tired. Maybe I'll be better soon. And
you----?"

"A little stiff, not much. I'm hard to damage, Miss Tremont. I've seen
too much of hardship. But I've overslept--and there isn't another
second to be lost. I've got to dress and go and locate Vosper and
Lounsbury."

"I suppose you'd better--right away. They'll be terribly
distressed--thinking we're drowned." She turned her back to him,
without nonsense or embarrassment, and he started to dress. She
didn't see the slow smile, half-sardonic, that was on his lips.

"I'm not worrying about their distress," he told her. "I only want to
be sure and catch them before they give us up for lost--and turn back.
I can never forgive myself for failing to waken. It was just that I was
so tired----"

"I won't let you blame yourself for that," the girl replied, slowly but
earnestly. "Besides, Uncle Kenly won't go away for two or three days at
least. He's been my guardian--I'm his ward--and I'm sure he'll make
every effort to learn what happened to us."

"I suppose you're right. You know whether or not you can trust
Lounsbury. I only know--that I can't trust Vosper."

"They'll be waiting for us, don't fear for that," the girl went on. She
tried to put all the assurance she could into her tone. "But how can we
get across?"

"That remains to be seen. If they're there to help, with the horses, we
might find a way." The man finished dressing, then turned to go. "I'm
sorry I can't even take time to light your fire. You must stay in bed,
anyway--all day."

He left hurriedly, and as the door opened the wind blew a handful of
snow in upon her. The snow had deepened during the night, and fall was
heavier than ever. Shivering with cold and aching in every muscle, she
got up and put on her underclothing. It was almost dry already. Then,
wholly miserable and dejected, she lay down again between her blankets,
waiting for Bill's return. And his step was heavy and slow on the
threshold when he came.

She couldn't interpret the expression on his face when she saw him in
the doorway. He was curiously sober and intent, perhaps even a little
pale. "Go to sleep, Miss Tremont," he advised. "I'll make a fire for
breakfast."

He bent to prepare kindling. The girl swall