ngs. No
longer did that work. Civilization assessed man on a different basis. The
Law of the Wild had been superseded by other qualities--qualities which,
presumably, he did not possess. It was a bitter enough awakening for him
to feel himself a failure. Wandering, half deliriously, in a vicious
mental circle he came again and again to that point. He had failed in the
great test--he had failed to win the heart of the woman he truly loved. So
much for all those physical attributes! They conquered women in the stone
age. They might conquer women now, of a kind, but they were futile weapons
to employ against a modern woman, benefiting by centuries of progress and
culture, with fine mentality and inflexible will.

What then were the qualities that counted? Was it love? No, not love, for
his bosom was bursting with it. Not sacrifice, for he would have died for
her--and she must know it. Was it Culture? Was it Education? Chivalry?

His tortured brain could find no answer. The woman herself had faced that
same inward tribunal. To her, too, the obstacle was not quite clear. But
it was pride of birth. It saturated her; it subjugated all passions, all
emotions. It rendered her incapable of exercising her real feelings. She
had placed the man low down in the scale, and had kept him there by the
mere consciousness of this accident of birth.

The man behind the sled ceased to ponder the enigma. His mind became a
complete blank as the shack hove into sight along the valley. He lurched
from side to side as the dogs, scenting their kennel, increased their
speed.

The sled hit a tree, and flung him to the ground, but the dogs went on. He
raised himself to his knees, his teeth chattering in ghastly fashion. His
half-blind eyes could just make out the hut in the distance, a black
smudge against the pure white snow. With a great effort he began to crawl
towards his refuge.... His legs felt like lead and soon refused to respond
to the weakened will that moved them.

He uttered a deep groan and collapsed in the snow, his head buried in his
great arms.

CHAPTER XVII

A CHANGE OF FRONT

For five days the fever raged, and then it left him, a mere wreck of his
former self. All through that unconscious period the strangest things had
happened. Arms had lifted him up from the pillow, and hands had fed him
with liquid foods. Some glorious half-seen stranger had taken him under
her care; but her face was hidden in a queer mist that