emed to turn across here just out of habit."

Gwen could not tell how long she stumbled about. It felt like
interminable hours as she wearily dragged herself along, watching the
sky grow darker, and the landscape more and more blurred, till she
could scarcely distinguish which was snow and which was sky. At last
her aching limbs absolutely refused to carry her any farther, and she
crouched under the shelter of a big juniper bush that overhung a piece
of rock. Here at least she was out of the biting, freezing wind. The
comparative warmth made her feel sleepy. She roused herself with an
effort. To sleep in the snow, she knew, was fatal, so she fell to
rubbing her hands and feet to try and restore the circulation. All at
once she started up and shouted aloud.

In the distance she had heard a short, sharp yelp, and she reasoned
that where there was a dog, a man might possibly be following. Again
and again she called, till, to her intense relief, a "Hallo!" came in
answer, and she made out a snowy form moving in her direction. The dog
found her first; it bounded at her, whining and sniffing at her
skirts, then rushed away barking loudly to inform its master of her
whereabouts.

"Can you tell me where I am? I've got lost!" cried Gwen, wading
through a drift in her eagerness to meet her rescuer.

"Why, you're close to our house--Rawlins' farm. Who is it? I can't see
in the dark. Miss Gascoyne? Why, whatever are you doing here all
alone?"

He might well ask, Gwen thought, but she ignored the question. She
knew the man, for he was a parishioner, and two of his boys sang in
the choir at church.

"Can you tell me how to get home?" she said, with chattering teeth and
watering eyes.

"Better come and have a sup o' tea first; you look clemmed wi' the
cold," he returned. "We'll tak' you back after wi' the lantern. It's
nobbut a step to the farm."

He whistled to the dog and moved on, and Gwen stumbled after him,
wondering how she had missed seeing the house when it was so near. She
scarcely knew whether to pose in the light of a heroine or a culprit
as she walked into Mrs. Rawlins' kitchen, but decided to give as
guarded an account of the matter as she could. There would be
explanations in plenty when she returned to the Parsonage. She was
very glad to sit and thaw by the fire and drink hot tea, despite the
difficulty of fencing with Mrs. Rawlins' questions, that good dame
being consumed with curiosity, and not restrained b