from head to foot, put up her two
hands between him and her agonizing memories.

The man rose and left her, going softly into the next room. There he
stood in a tense attitude of thought, sat down presently with his
long, narrow jaw in his hands and stared fixedly at Pierre. He was
evidently trying to fight down the shock of the spectacle, grimly
telling himself to become used to the fact that here lay the body of a
man that he had killed. In a short time he seemed to be successful,
his face grew calm. He looked away from Pierre and turned his mind to
the woman.

"She can't stay here," he said presently, in the tone of a man who has
fallen into the habit of talking aloud to himself. He looked about in
a hesitant, doubtful fashion. "God!" he said abruptly and snapped his
fingers and thumb. He looked angry. Again he bent over Pierre,
examined him with thoroughness and science, his face becoming more and
more calm. At the end he rose and with an air of authority he went in
again to Joan. She lay with her face turned to the wall.

"It is impossible for you to stay here," said he in a voice of
command. "You are not fit to take care of yourself, and I can't stay
and take care of you. You must come with me. I think you can manage
that. Your husband--if he is your husband--is dead. It may or may not
be a matter for sorrow to you, but I should say that it ought not to
be anything but a merciful release. Women are queer creatures,
though.... However, whether you are in grief or in rejoicing, you
can't stay here. By to-morrow or next day you'll need more nursing
than you do now. I don't want to take you to a neighbor, even if there
was one near enough, but I'll take you with me. Will you get ready
now?"

His sure, even, commanding voice evidently had a hypnotizing effect
upon the dazed girl. Slowly, wincing, she stood up, and with his help
gathered together some of her belongings which he put in the pack he
carried on his shoulders. She wrapped herself in her warmest outdoor
clothing. He then put his hand upon her arm and drew her toward the
door of that outer room. She followed him blindly with no will of her
own, but, as he stopped to strap on his snowshoes, her face lightened
with pain, and she made as if to run to Pierre's body. He stood before
her, "Don't touch him," said he, and, turning himself, he glanced back
at Pierre. In that glance he saw one of the lean, brown hands stir.
His face became suddenly suffused, even h