ut
her. That done, he stooped and looked down upon her while the blood
crept to his face. Maud Barrington lay very still, the long dark
lashes resting on her cold tinted cheek, and the patrician serenity of
her face was even more marked in her sleep. Then he turned away
feeling like one who had committed a desecration, knowing that he had
looked too long already upon the sleeping girl who believed he had been
an outcast and yet had taken his word, for it was borne in upon him
that a time would come when he would try her faith even more severely.
Moving softly he paced up and down the room.

Winston afterwards wondered how many miles he walked that night, for
though the loghouse was not longer than thirty feet, the cold bit deep;
but at last he heard a sigh as he glanced towards the stove, and
immediately swung round again. When he next turned, Miss Barrington
stood upright, a little flushed in face but otherwise very calm, and
the man stood still, shivering in spite of his efforts and blue with
cold. The wind had fallen, but the sting of the frost that followed it
made itself felt beside the stove.

"You had only your deerskin jacket--and you let me sleep under all the
furs," she said.

Winston shook his head, and hoped he did not look as guilty as he felt,
when he remembered that it must have been evident to his companion that
the furs did not get into the position they had occupied themselves.

"I only fancied you were a trifle drowsy and not inclined to talk," he
said, with an absence of concern, for which Miss Barrington, who did
not believe him, felt grateful. "You see,"--and the inspiration was a
trifle too evident--"I was too sleepy to notice anything myself.
Still, I am glad you are awake now, because I must make my way to the
Grange."

"But the snow will be ever so deep, and I could not come," said Maud
Barrington.

Winston shook his head. "I'm afraid you must stay here, but I will be
back with Colonel Barrington in a few hours at latest."

The girl deemed it advisable to hide her consternation. "But you might
not find the trail," she said. "The ravine would lead you to Graham's
homestead."

"Still," said Winston slowly, "I am going to the Grange."

Then Maud Barrington remembered, and glanced aside from him. It was
evident this man thought of everything, and she made no answer when
Winston, who thrust more billets into the stove, turned to her with a
little smile.

"I think we need reme