. . . In a second's space he caught a clear
vision of tremendous masses of green and purple glaciers being ground
to fine powder in their swift descent on all sides of him, . . . he
saw the feathery ice fragments catch fire in the moonlight, . . . he
heard the elemental roar and grinding crash of ice mountains sundering
in a titanic convulsion . . . then he lost hearing . . . In that same
sick bewildering moment of preternatural consciousness he thought
wildly of Annadoah . . . he saw her appealing wan face amid the blur of
white moonlight . . . he knew she needed food . . . and he felt an ache
at his heart . . . he called upon the spirits of his ancestors. Then
the silvery swimming world of white dust-driven fire became suddenly
black--and the earth seemed removed from under him.

In the village the natives were awakened from their lethargic sleep by
the far-away crash of the avalanche. Their faces blanched as they
thought of the hunters. "The hill spirits have smitten! _Ioh_!
_Ioh_!" they moaned. In her igloo Annadoah, who had waited with
sleepless anxiety, wept alone. Of all in the village only the heart of
one, Maisanguaq, was glad.

VII

"_The utter tragedy of her devotion to the man who had deserted her,
and the utter hopelessness of his own deep passion, blightingly,
horribly forced itself upon him . . . Ootah asked himself all the
questions men ask in such a crisis . . . and he demanded with wild
weeping their answer from the dead rejoicing in the auroral Valhalla.
But there was no answer--as perhaps there may be no answer; or, if
there is, that God fearing lest, in attaining the Great Desire, men
should cease to endeavor; to serve and to labor has kept it locked
where He and the dead live beyond the skies._"

The moon dipped behind the horizon. For five sleeps naught had been
heard from Ootah and his companion. Inetlia, the sister of Koolotah,
followed in turn by some of the other women, visited the igloo of
Annadoah. Upon her couch of moss Annadoah lay, and over her a cover
given by Ootah and lined with the feathers of birds.

"'Twas thou who sent Ootah to the mountains," one complained. "May the
ravens peck thine eyes!" cried another. Annadoah shook her head sadly
and wept.

"'Twas thou who chose Olafaksoah, the robber from the south, that thou
mightest be his wife; and 'twas thou, his wife, who beguiled the men
and robbed thy tribe. Did we not give away our skins, and didst t