er eyes; "my king, my lover, could defeat them all!" He
dared not kiss her, then, as they both would have wished. Her isolation
made her holy.

"That," he said, pointing southwardly, "is our general direction. Fate
must guide our steps."

XXVI

THE VISTULA!

It was a weary journey. Confused, discouraged, losing their paths a
score of times each hour, they lurched forward through the gloom of
night and the unfeeling dawn of the next day. They prayed a ceaseless
prayer for succor and--the Vistula. They were hungry, for the last crumb
of food had been lost in fording a boisterous stream in their road, and
in the darkness they had been unable to recover it. Rough stones cut
Trusia's feet, but she uttered no complaint. The brambles tore her
clothes, and scarred her hands, while more than one low-hanging limb
clutched at her hair. Nor did Carter fare any better.

The second morning found them helplessly lost in the forest. By sheer
strength he broke down saplings and built a wigwam in which Trusia could
rest. He caught a rabbit, off which they fared for one meal and still
frugally saved a portion for the necessities of mid-day. When that time
came around, the girl generously insisted that he should take it all,
there not being enough for both, and he having been unable to snare any
other unwary woodland denizen. Of course he refused. She looked at him,
grief-stricken and imploring. Still he would not yield. Then came their
nearest approach to a quarrel. Fatigued, depressed, bewildered, it is no
wonder that the strained nerves gave way.

"See, Calvert," she said at last, looking at him through tear-dimmed
eyes, "I give in. I'll feel like a cannibal, though; I know I
shall--eating your strength." Unable to refrain under the yielding
influences, he bent toward her for a kiss of reconciliation, but she
gently held him off.

"Not yet," she said gravely, "not yet."

With mid-afternoon they resumed their weary advance and maintained their
plodding way through the night. Along toward dawn of this, the third,
day of their flight, a suggestive, recurrent, monotonous sigh in the air
told their hopeful ears that they were drawing near a large body of
water.

"Do you hear it, Calvert?" she asked ecstatically, a convulsive hand
upon his elbow.

"Yes," he answered in a voice husky with thanksgiving, "it is right over
the breast of that bank of firs. Oh, little girl," he said bending the
depths of his eyes into her soul