lf mad, and repented. I'll tell any thing
--any thing you like. I'll shield you so that all his fury shall fall
on me, and he will have nothing for you but pity."

"Stop," said she, solemnly, rising to her feet, and looking at me with
her white face--"stop! You must not talk so. I owe my life to you
already. Do not overwhelm me. You have now deliberately offered to
accept dishonor for my sake. It is too much. If my gratitude is worth
having, I assure you I am grateful beyond words. But your offer is
impossible. Never would I permit it."

"Will you go home, then?" I asked, as she paused.

"Yes," said she, slowly.

I offered my arm, and she took it, leaning heavily upon me. Our
progress was slow, for the storm was fierce, and she was very weak.

"I think," said she, "that in my haste I left the back door unlocked.
If so, I may get in without being observed."

"I pray Heaven it may be so," said I, "for in that case all trouble
will be avoided."

We walked on a little farther. She leaned more and more heavily upon
me, and walked more and more slowly. At last she stopped.

I knew what was the matter. She was utterly exhausted, and to go
farther was impossible. I did not question her at all. I said nothing.
I stooped, and raised her in my arms without a word, and walked
vigorously onward. She murmured a few words of complaint, and struggled
feebly; but I took no notice whatever of her words or her struggles.
But her weakness was too great even for words. She rested on me like a
dead weight, and I would have been sure that she had fainted again, had
I not felt the convulsive shudders that from time to time passed
through her frame, and heard her frequent heavy sighs and sobbings.

So I walked on through the roaring storm, beaten by the furious sleet,
bearing my burden in my arms, as I had done once before. And it was the
same burden, under the same circumstances--my Lady of the Ice, whom I
thus again uplifted in my arms amid the storm, and snatched from a
cruel fate, and carried back to life and safety and home. And I knew
that this salvation which she now received from me was far more
precious than that other one; for that was a rescue from death, but
this was a rescue from dishonor.

We reached the house at last. The gate which led into the yard was not
fastened. I carried her in, and put her down by the back door. I tried
it. It opened.

The sight of that open door gave her fresh life and strength. She put
one