owlight part of a man's figure, wrapped in a long
cloak.

She barred the window once more. She was not surprised. She knew now
that she had known it always. She had pretended to herself that the
thief would not come; but she was expecting him when he knocked. And he
stood there, outside. Presently he would be inside.

He knocked yet again, this time more loudly. What need was there for
silence when for miles and miles round there was no ear to hear save
that of a chance prairie dog?

She laid hold upon her courage, seeing that it was her only refuge, and
went to the door.

"Who is there?" she said through a chink.

A man's voice, low and feeble, replied, "Let me in."

"I cannot let you in."

There was a short silence.

"I pray you, let me in," he said again.

"I have told you I cannot. Who are you?"

"I am a soldier, wounded. I'm trying to get back to my friends at ----."
He mentioned a settlement about fifty miles north. "I have missed my
way, and I can't drag myself any farther."

Her heart swung violently between suspicion and compassion.

"I am alone in the house," she said. "My husband is away, and he made me
promise not to let any one in on any pretence whatever during his
absence."

"Then I shall die on your doorstep," said the voice. "I can't drag
myself any farther."

There was another silence.

"It is beginning to snow," he said.

"I know," she said, and he heard the trouble in her voice.

"Open the door and look at me," he said, "and see if I can do you any
harm."

She opened the door, and stood on the threshold, barring the way. He was
leaning against the doorpost with his head against it, as she had often
seen her husband lean when he was talking to her on a summer evening.
Something in his attitude, so like her husband's, touched her strangely.
Supposing he were in need, and pleaded for help in vain!

The man turned his face towards her. It was sunk and hollow, ravaged
with pain, an evil-looking face. His right arm was in a sling under his
tattered military cloak. He seemed to have made his final effort, and
now stood staring dumbly at her.

"My husband will never forgive me," she said, with a sort of sob.

He said nothing more. He seemed at the last point of exhaustion. Through
the dim white night a few flakes of snow fell upon his harsh, repellent
face and on his bandaged arm.

A sudden wave of pity carried all before it.

She beckoned him into the house, and locked and bar