; but he lay silent till
he could command his voice, then he said: "That would drive me from the
country in disgrace. Think of what the fellows down below will say when
they know of my cold feet."

"They won't hear of it; and, besides, it is better to carry a hot-water
bag than to be laid up with a fever."

Her anxiety lessened as his voice resumed its pleasant tenor flow. "Dear
girl," he said, "no one could have been sweeter--more like a guardian
angel to me. Don't place me under any greater obligation. Go to sleep. I
am better--much better now."

She did not speak for a few moments, then in a voice that conveyed to him
a knowledge that his words of endearment had deeply moved her, she softly
said: "Good night."

He heard her sigh drowsily thereafter once or twice, and then she slept,
and her slumber redoubled in him his sense of guardianship, of
responsibility. Lying there in the shelter of her tent, the whole
situation seemed simple, innocent, and poetic; but looked at from the
standpoint of Clifford Belden it held an accusation.

"It cannot be helped," he said. "The only thing we can do is to conceal
the fact that we spent the night beneath this tent alone."

In the belief that the way would clear with the dawn, he, too, fell
asleep, while the fire sputtered and smudged in the fitful mountain
wind.

The second dawn came slowly, as though crippled by the storm and walled
back by the clouds. Gradually, austerely, the bleak, white peaks began to
define themselves above the firs. The camp-birds called cheerily from the
wet branches which overhung the smoldering embers of the fire, and so at
last day was abroad in the sky.

With a dull ache in his bones, Wayland crept out to the fire and set to
work fanning the coals with his hat, as he had seen the Supervisor do. He
worked desperately till one of the embers began to angrily sparkle and to
smoke. Then slipping away out of earshot he broke an armful of dry fir
branches to heap above the wet, charred logs. Soon these twigs broke into
flame, and Berrie, awakened by the crackle of the pine branches, called
out: "Is it daylight?"

"Yes, but it's a very _dark_ daylight. Don't leave your warm bed for the
dampness and cold out here; stay where you are; I'll get breakfast."

"How are you this morning? Did you sleep?"

"Fine!"

"I'm afraid you had a bad night," she insisted, in a tone which indicated
her knowledge of his suffering.

"Camp life has its disadvantage