andan
ice-bound
world
shone
white
and
sunlit
under
a
cloudless
sky
.
Through
all
that
time
they
got
no
further
with
the
great
discussion
for
which
they
had
faced
that
solitude
.
They
attempted
beginnings
.
"
Where
had
we
got
to
when
we
left
England
?
"
cried
Marjorie
.
"
You
could
n't
work
,
you
could
n't
rest
—
you
hated
our
life
.
"
"
Yes
,
I
know
.
I
had
a
violent
hatred
of
the
lives
we
were
leading
.
I
thought
—
we
had
to
get
away
.
To
think
...
.
But
things
do
n't
leave
us
alone
here
.
"
He
covered
his
face
with
his
hands
.
"
Why
did
we
come
here
?
"
he
asked
.
"
You
wanted
—
to
get
out
of
things
.
"
"
Yes
.
But
with
you
...
.
Have
we
,
after
all
,
got
out
of
things
at
all
?
I
said
coming
up
,
perhaps
we
were
leaving
our
own
problem
behind
.
In
exchange
for
other
problems
—
old
problems
men
have
had
before
.
We
've
got
nearer
necessity
;
that
's
all
.
Things
press
on
us
just
as
much
.
There
's
nothing
more
fundamental
in
wild
nature
,
nothing
profounder
—
only
something
earlier
.
One
does
n't
get
out
of
life
by
going
here
or
there
...
.
But
I
wanted
to
get
you
away
—
from
all
things
that
had
such
a
hold
on
you
...
.
"
When
one
lies
awake
at
nights
,
then
one
seems
to
get
down
into
things
...
.
"
He
went
to
the
door
,
opened
it
,
and
stood
looking
out
.
Against
a
wan
daylight
the
snow
was
falling
noiselessly
and
steadily
.
"
Everything
goes
on
,
"
he
said
...
.
"
Relentlessly
...
.
"
That
was
as
far
as
they
had
got
when
the
storms
ceased
and
they
came
out
again
into
an
air
inexpressibly
fresh
and
sharp
and
sweet
,
and
into
a
world
blindingly
clean
and
golden
white
under
the
rays
of
the
morning
sun
.
"
We
will
build
a
fire
out
here
,
"
said
Marjorie
;
"
make
a
great
pile
.
There
is
no
reason
at
all
why
we
should
n't
live
outside
all
through
the
day
in
such
weather
as
this
.
"
One
morning
Trafford
found
the
footmarks
of
some
catlike
creature
in
the
snow
near
the
bushes
where
he
was
accustomed
to
get
firewood
;
they
led
away
very
plainly
up
the
hill
,
and
after
breakfast
he
took
his
knife
and
rifle
and
snowshoes
and
went
after
the
lynx
—
for
that
he
decided
the
animal
must
be
.
There
was
no
urgent
reason
why
he
should
want
to
kill
a
lynx
,
unless
perhaps
that
killing
it
made
the
store
shed
a
trifle
safer
;
but
it
was
the
first
trail
of
any
living
thing
for
many
days
;
it
promised
excitement
;
some
primordial
instinct
perhaps
urged
him
.
The
morning
was
a
little
overcast
,
and
very
cold
between
the
gleams
of
wintry
sunshine
.
"
Good-bye
,
dear
wife
!
"
he
said
,
and
then
as
she
remembered
afterwards
came
back
a
dozen
yards
to
kiss
her
.
"
I
'll
not
be
long
,
"
he
said
.
"
The
beast
's
prowling
,
and
if
it
does
n't
get
wind
of
me
I
ought
to
find
it
in
an
hour
.
"
He
hesitated
for
a
moment
.
"
I
'll
not
be
long
,
"
he
repeated
,
and
she
had
an
instant
's
wonder
whether
he
hid
from
her
the
same
dread
of
loneliness
that
she
concealed
.
Or
perhaps
he
only
knew
her
secret
.
Up
among
the
tumbled
rocks
he
turned
,
and
she
was
still
watching
him
.
"
Good-bye
!
"
he
cried
and
waved
,
and
the
willow
thickets
closed
about
him
.
She
forced
herself
to
the
petty
duties
of
the
day
,
made
up
the
fire
from
the
pile
he
had
left
for
her
,
set
water
to
boil
,
put
the
hut
in
order
,
brought
out
sheets
and
blankets
to
air
and
set
herself
to
wash
up
.
She
wished
she
had
been
able
to
go
with
him
.
The
sky
cleared
presently
,
and
the
low
December
sun
lit
all
the
world
about
her
,
but
it
left
her
spirit
desolate
.
She
did
not
expect
him
to
return
until
mid-day
,
and
she
sat
herself
down
on
a
log
before
the
fire
to
darn
a
pair
of
socks
as
well
as
she
could
.
For
a
time
this
unusual
occupation
held
her
attention
and
then
her
hands
became
slow
and
at
last
inactive
,
and
she
fell
into
reverie
.
She
thought
at
first
of
her
children
and
what
they
might
be
doing
,
in
England
across
there
to
the
east
it
would
be
about
five
hours
later
,
four
o'clock
in
the
afternoon
,
and
the
children
would
be
coming
home
through
the
warm
muggy
London
sunshine
with
Fraulein
Otto
to
tea
.
She
wondered
if
they
had
the
proper
clothes
,
if
they
were
well
;
were
they
perhaps
quarrelling
or
being
naughty
or
skylarking
gaily
across
the
Park
.
Of
course
Fraulein
Otto
was
all
right
,
quite
to
be
trusted
,
absolutely
trustworthy
,
and
their
grandmother
would
watch
for
a
flushed
face
or
an
irrational
petulance
or
any
of
the
little
signs
that
herald
trouble
with
more
than
a
mother
's
instinctive
alertness
.
No
need
to
worry
about
the
children
,
no
need
whatever
...
.
The
world
of
London
opened
out
behind
these
thoughts
;
it
was
so
queer
to
think
that
she
was
in
almost
the
same
latitude
as
the
busy
bright
traffic
of
the
autumn
season
in
Kensington
Gore
;
that
away
there
in
ten
thousand
cleverly
furnished
drawing-rooms
the
ringing
tea
things
were
being
set
out
for
the
rustling
advent
of
smart
callers
and
the
quick
leaping
gossip
.
And
there
would
be
all
sorts
of
cakes
and
little
things
;
for
a
while
her
mind
ran
on
cakes
and
little
things
,
and
she
thought
in
particular
whether
it
was
n't
time
to
begin
cooking
...
.
Not
yet
.
What
was
it
she
had
been
thinking
about
?
Ah
!
the
Solomonsons
and
the
Capeses
and
the
Bernards
and
the
Carmels
and
the
Lees
.
Would
they
talk
of
her
and
Trafford
?
It
would
be
strange
to
go
back
to
it
all
.
Would
they
go
back
to
it
all
?
She
found
herself
thinking
intently
of
Trafford
.
What
a
fine
human
being
he
was
!
And
how
touchingly
human
!
The
thoughts
of
his
moments
of
irritation
,
his
baffled
silences
,
filled
her
with
a
wild
passion
of
tenderness
.
She
had
disappointed
him
;
all
that
life
failed
to
satisfy
him
.
Dear
master
of
her
life
!
what
was
it
he
needed
?
She
too
was
n't
satisfied
with
life
,
but
while
she
had
been
able
to
assuage
herself
with
a
perpetual
series
of
petty
excitements
,
theatres
,
new
books
and
new
people
,
meetings
,
movements
,
dinners
,
shows
,
he
had
grown
to
an
immense
discontent
.
He
had
most
of
the
things
men
sought
,
wealth
,
respect
,
love
,
children
...
.
So
many
men
might
have
blunted
their
heart-ache
with
—
adventures
.
There
were
pretty
women
,
clever
women
,
unoccupied
women
.
She
felt
she
would
n't
have
minded
—
much
—
if
it
made
him
happy
...
.
It
was
so
wonderful
he
loved
her
still
...
.
It
was
n't
that
he
lacked
occupation
;
on
the
whole
he
overworked
.
His
business
interests
were
big
and
wide
.
Ought
he
to
go
into
politics
?
Why
was
it
that
the
researches
that
had
held
him
once
,
could
hold
him
now
no
more
?
That
was
the
real
pity
of
it
.
Was
she
to
blame
for
that
?
She
could
n't
state
a
case
against
herself
,
and
yet
she
felt
she
was
to
blame
.
She
had
taken
him
away
from
those
things
,
forced
him
to
make
money
...
.
She
sat
chin
on
hand
staring
into
the
fire
,
the
sock
forgotten
on
her
knee
.
She
could
not
weigh
justice
between
herself
and
him
.
If
he
was
unhappy
it
was
her
fault
.
She
knew
if
he
was
unhappy
it
was
no
excuse
that
she
had
not
known
,
had
been
misled
,
had
a
right
to
her
own
instincts
and
purposes
.
She
had
got
to
make
him
happy
.
But
what
was
she
to
do
,
what
was
there
for
her
to
do
?
...
Only
he
could
work
out
his
own
salvation
,
and
until
he
had
light
,
all
she
could
do
was
to
stand
by
him
,
help
him
,
cease
to
irritate
him
,
watch
,
wait
.
Anyhow
she
could
at
least
mend
his
socks
as
well
as
possible
,
so
that
the
threads
would
not
chafe
him
...
.
She
flashed
to
her
feet
.
What
was
that
?
It
seemed
to
her
she
had
heard
the
sound
of
a
shot
,
and
a
quick
brief
wake
of
echoes
.
She
looked
across
the
icy
waste
of
the
river
,
and
then
up
the
tangled
slopes
of
the
mountain
.
Her
heart
was
beating
very
fast
.
It
must
have
been
up
there
,
and
no
doubt
he
had
killed
his
beast
.
Some
shadow
of
doubt
she
would
not
admit
crossed
that
obvious
suggestion
.
This
wilderness
was
making
her
as
nervously
responsive
as
a
creature
of
the
wild
.
Came
a
second
shot
;
this
time
there
was
no
doubt
of
it
.
Then
the
desolate
silence
closed
about
her
again
.
She
stood
for
a
long
time
staring
at
the
shrubby
slopes
that
rose
to
the
barren
rock
wilderness
of
the
purple
mountain
crest
.
She
sighed
deeply
at
last
,
and
set
herself
to
make
up
the
fire
and
prepare
for
the
mid-day
meal
.
Once
far
away
across
the
river
she
heard
the
howl
of
a
wolf
.
Time
seemed
to
pass
very
slowly
that
day
.
She
found
herself
going
repeatedly
to
the
space
between
the
day
tent
and
the
sleeping
hut
from
which
she
could
see
the
stunted
wood
that
had
swallowed
him
up
,
and
after
what
seemed
a
long
hour
her
watch
told
her
it
was
still
only
half-past
twelve
.
And
the
fourth
or
fifth
time
that
she
went
to
look
out
she
was
set
atremble
again
by
the
sound
of
a
third
shot
.
And
then
at
regular
intervals
out
of
that
distant
brown
purple
jumble
of
thickets
against
the
snow
came
two
more
shots
.
"
Something
has
happened
,
"
she
said
,
"
something
has
happened
,
"
and
stood
rigid
.
Then
she
became
active
,
seized
the
rifle
that
was
always
at
hand
when
she
was
alone
,
fired
into
the
sky
and
stood
listening
.
Prompt
come
an
answering
shot
.
"
He
wants
me
,
"
said
Marjorie
.
"
Something
—
—
Perhaps
he
has
killed
something
too
big
to
bring
!
"
She
was
for
starting
at
once
,
and
then
remembered
this
was
not
the
way
of
the
wilderness
.
She
thought
and
moved
very
rapidly
.
Her
mind
catalogued
possible
requirements
,
rifle
,
hunting
knife
,
the
oilskin
bag
with
matches
,
and
some
chunks
of
dry
paper
,
the
rucksack
—
and
he
would
be
hungry
.
She
took
a
saucepan
and
a
huge
chunk
of
cheese
and
biscuit
.
Then
a
brandy
flask
is
sometimes
handy
—
one
never
knows
.
Though
nothing
was
wrong
,
of
course
.
Needles
and
stout
thread
,
and
some
cord
.
Snowshoes
.
A
waterproof
cloak
could
be
easily
carried
.
Her
light
hatchet
for
wood
.
She
cast
about
to
see
if
there
was
anything
else
.
She
had
almost
forgotten
cartridges
—
and
a
revolver
.
Nothing
more
.
She
kicked
a
stray
brand
or
so
into
the
fire
,
put
on
some
more
wood
,
damped
the
fire
with
an
armful
of
snow
to
make
it
last
longer
,
and
set
out
towards
the
willows
into
which
he
had
vanished
.
There
was
a
rustling
and
snapping
of
branches
as
she
pushed
her
way
through
the
bushes
,
a
little
stir
that
died
insensibly
into
quiet
again
;
and
then
the
camping
place
became
very
still
...
.
Scarcely
a
sound
occurred
,
except
for
the
little
shuddering
and
stirring
of
the
fire
,
and
the
reluctant
,
infrequent
drip
from
the
icicles
along
the
sunny
edge
of
the
log
hut
roof
.
About
one
o'clock
the
amber
sunshine
faded
out
altogether
,
a
veil
of
clouds
thickened
and
became
greyly
ominous
,
and
a
little
after
two
the
first
flakes
of
a
snowstorm
fell
hissing
into
the
fire
.
A
wind
rose
and
drove
the
multiplying
snowflakes
in
whirls
and
eddies
before
it
.
The
icicles
ceased
to
drip
,
but
one
or
two
broke
and
fell
with
a
weak
tinkling
.
A
deep
soughing
,
a
shuddering
groaning
of
trees
and
shrubs
,
came
ever
and
again
out
of
the
ravine
,
and
the
powdery
snow
blew
like
puffs
of
smoke
from
the
branches
.
By
four
the
fire
was
out
,
and
the
snow
was
piling
high
in
the
darkling
twilight
against
tent
and
hut
...
.
Trafford
's
trail
led
Marjorie
through
the
thicket
of
dwarf
willows
and
down
to
the
gully
of
the
rivulet
which
they
had
called
Marjorie
Trickle
;
it
had
long
since
become
a
trough
of
snow-covered
rotten
ice
;
the
trail
crossed
this
and
,
turning
sharply
uphill
,
went
on
until
it
was
clear
of
shrubs
and
trees
,
and
in
the
windy
open
of
the
upper
slopes
it
crossed
a
ridge
and
came
over
the
lip
of
a
large
desolate
valley
with
slopes
of
ice
and
icy
snow
.
Here
she
spent
some
time
in
following
his
loops
back
on
the
homeward
trail
before
she
saw
what
was
manifestly
the
final
trail
running
far
away
out
across
the
snow
,
with
the
spoor
of
the
lynx
,
a
lightly-dotted
line
,
to
the
right
of
it
.
She
followed
this
suggestion
of
the
trail
,
put
on
her
snowshoes
,
and
shuffled
her
way
across
this
valley
,
which
opened
as
she
proceeded
.
She
hoped
that
over
the
ridge
she
would
find
Trafford
,
and
scanned
the
sky
for
the
faintest
discolouration
of
a
fire
,
but
there
was
none
.
That
seemed
odd
to
her
,
but
the
wind
was
in
her
face
,
and
perhaps
it
beat
the
smoke
down
.
Then
as
her
eyes
scanned
the
hummocky
ridge
ahead
,
she
saw
something
,
something
very
intent
and
still
,
that
brought
her
heart
into
her
mouth
.
It
was
a
big
,
grey
wolf
,
standing
with
back
haunched
and
head
down
,
watching
and
winding
something
beyond
there
,
out
of
sight
.
Marjorie
had
an
instinctive
fear
of
wild
animals
,
and
it
still
seemed
dreadful
to
her
that
they
should
go
at
large
,
uncaged
.
She
suddenly
wanted
Trafford
violently
,
wanted
him
by
her
side
.
Also
she
thought
of
leaving
the
trail
,
going
back
to
the
bushes
.
She
had
to
take
herself
in
hand
.
In
the
wastes
one
did
not
fear
wild
beasts
.
One
had
no
fear
of
them
.
But
why
not
fire
a
shot
to
let
him
know
she
was
near
?
The
beast
flashed
round
with
an
animal
's
instantaneous
change
of
pose
,
and
looked
at
her
.
For
a
couple
of
seconds
,
perhaps
,
woman
and
brute
regarded
one
another
across
a
quarter
of
a
mile
of
snowy
desolation
.
Suppose
it
came
towards
her
!
She
would
fire
—
and
she
would
fire
at
it
.
She
made
a
guess
at
the
range
and
aimed
very
carefully
.
She
saw
the
snow
fly
two
yards
ahead
of
the
grisly
shape
,
and
then
in
an
instant
it
had
vanished
over
the
crest
.
She
reloaded
,
and
stood
for
a
moment
waiting
for
Trafford
's
answer
.
No
answer
came
.
"
Queer
!
"
she
whispered
,
"
queer
!
"
—
and
suddenly
such
a
horror
of
anticipation
assailed
her
that
she
started
running
and
floundering
through
the
snow
to
escape
it
.
Twice
she
called
his
name
,
and
once
she
just
stopped
herself
from
firing
a
shot
.
Over
the
ridge
she
would
find
him
.
Surely
she
would
find
him
over
the
ridge
.
She
found
herself
among
rocks
,
and
there
was
a
beaten
and
trampled
place
where
Trafford
must
have
waited
and
crouched
.
Then
on
and
down
a
slope
of
tumbled
boulders
.
There
came
a
patch
where
he
had
either
thrown
himself
down
or
fallen
.
It
seemed
to
her
he
must
have
been
running
...
.
Suddenly
,
a
hundred
feet
or
so
away
,
she
saw
a
patch
of
violently
disturbed
snow
—
snow
stained
a
dreadful
colour
,
a
snow
of
scarlet
crystals
!
Three
strides
and
Trafford
was
in
sight
.
She
had
a
swift
conviction
he
was
dead
.
He
was
lying
in
a
crumpled
attitude
on
a
patch
of
snow
between
convergent
rocks
,
and
the
lynx
,
a
mass
of
blood
smeared
silvery
fur
,
was
in
some
way
mixed
up
with
him
.
She
saw
as
she
came
nearer
that
the
snow
was
disturbed
round
about
them
,
and
discoloured
copiously
,
yellow
widely
,
and
in
places
bright
red
,
with
congealed
and
frozen
blood
.
She
felt
no
fear
now
,
and
no
emotion
;
all
her
mind
was
engaged
with
the
clear
,
bleak
perception
of
the
fact
before
her
.
She
did
not
care
to
call
to
him
again
.
His
head
was
hidden
by
the
lynx
's
body
,
it
was
as
if
he
was
burrowing
underneath
the
creature
;
his
legs
were
twisted
about
each
other
in
a
queer
,
unnatural
attitude
.
Then
,
as
she
dropped
off
a
boulder
,
and
came
nearer
,
Trafford
moved
.
A
hand
came
out
and
gripped
the
rifle
beside
him
;
he
suddenly
lifted
a
dreadful
face
,
horribly
scarred
and
torn
,
and
crimson
with
frozen
blood
;
he
pushed
the
grey
beast
aside
,
rose
on
an
elbow
,
wiped
his
sleeve
across
his
eyes
,
stared
at
her
,
grunted
,
and
flopped
forward
.
He
had
fainted
.
She
was
now
as
clear-minded
and
as
self-possessed
as
a
woman
in
a
shop
.
In
another
moment
she
was
kneeling
by
his
side
.
She
saw
,
by
the
position
of
his
knife
and
the
huge
rip
in
the
beast
's
body
,
that
he
had
stabbed
the
lynx
to
death
as
it
clawed
his
head
;
he
must
have
shot
and
wounded
it
and
then
fallen
upon
it
.
His
knitted
cap
was
torn
to
ribbons
,
and
hung
upon
his
neck
.
Also
his
leg
was
manifestly
injured
;
how
,
she
could
not
tell
.
It
was
chiefly
evident
he
must
freeze
if
he
lay
here
.
It
seemed
to
her
that
perhaps
he
had
pulled
the
dead
brute
over
him
to
protect
his
torn
skin
from
the
extremity
of
cold
.
The
lynx
was
already
rigid
,
its
clumsy
paws
asprawl
—
the
torn
skin
and
clot
upon
Trafford
's
face
was
stiff
as
she
put
her
hands
about
his
head
to
raise
him
.
She
turned
him
over
on
his
back
—
how
heavy
he
seemed
!
—
and
forced
brandy
between
his
teeth
.
Then
,
after
a
moment
's
hesitation
,
she
poured
a
little
brandy
on
his
wounds
.
She
glanced
at
his
leg
,
which
was
surely
broken
,
and
back
at
his
face
.
Then
she
gave
him
more
brandy
and
his
eyelids
flickered
.
He
moved
his
hand
weakly
.
"
The
blood
,
"
he
said
,
"
kept
getting
in
my
eyes
.
"
She
gave
him
brandy
once
again
,
wiped
his
face
and
glanced
at
his
leg
.
Something
ought
to
be
done
to
that
she
thought
.
But
things
must
be
done
in
order
.
She
stared
up
at
the
darkling
sky
with
its
grey
promise
of
snow
,
and
down
the
slopes
of
the
mountain
.
Clearly
they
must
stay
the
night
here
.
They
were
too
high
for
wood
among
these
rocks
,
but
three
or
four
hundred
yards
below
there
were
a
number
of
dwarfed
fir
trees
.
She
had
brought
an
axe
,
so
that
a
fire
was
possible
.
Should
she
go
back
to
camp
and
get
the
tent
?
Trafford
was
trying
to
speak
again
.
"
I
got
—
—
"
he
said
.
"
Yes
?
"
"
Got
my
leg
in
that
crack
.
Damn
—
damned
nuisance
.
"
Was
he
able
to
advise
her
?
She
looked
at
him
,
and
then
perceived
she
must
bind
up
his
head
and
face
.
She
knelt
behind
him
and
raised
his
head
on
her
knee
.
She
had
a
thick
silk
neck
muffler
,
and
this
she
supplemented
by
a
band
she
cut
and
tore
from
her
inner
vest
.
She
bound
this
,
still
warm
from
her
body
,
about
him
,
wrapped
her
cloak
round
him
.
The
next
thing
was
a
fire
.
Five
yards
away
,
perhaps
,
a
great
mass
of
purple
gabbro
hung
over
a
patch
of
nearly
snowless
moss
.
A
hummock
to
the
westward
offered
shelter
from
the
weakly
bitter
wind
,
the
icy
draught
,
that
was
soughing
down
the
valley
.
Always
in
Labrador
,
if
you
can
,
you
camp
against
a
rock
surface
;
it
shelters
you
from
the
wind
,
reflects
your
fire
,
guards
your
back
.
"
Rag
!
"
she
said
.
"
Rotten
hole
,
"
said
Trafford
.
"
What
?
"
she
cried
sharply
.
"
Got
you
in
a
rotten
hole
,
"
he
said
.
"
Eh
?
"
"
Listen
,
"
she
said
,
and
shook
his
shoulder
.
"
Look
!
I
want
to
get
you
up
against
that
rock
.
"
"
Wo
n't
make
much
difference
,
"
said
Trafford
,
and
opened
his
eyes
.
"
Where
?
"
he
asked
.
"
There
.
"
He
remained
quite
quiet
for
a
second
perhaps
.
"
Listen
to
me
,
"
he
said
.
"
Go
back
to
camp
.
"
"
Yes
,
"
she
said
.
"
Go
back
to
camp
.
Make
a
pack
of
all
the
strongest
food
—
strenthin
'
—
strengthrin
'
food
—
you
know
?
"
He
seemed
troubled
to
express
himself
.
"
Yes
,
"
she
said
.
"
Down
the
river
.
Down
—
down
.
Till
you
meet
help
.
"
"
Leave
you
?
"
He
nodded
his
head
and
winced
.
"
You
're
always
plucky
,
"
he
said
.
"
Look
facts
in
the
face
.
Kiddies
.
Thought
it
over
while
you
were
coming
.
"
A
tear
oozed
from
his
eye
.
"
Not
be
a
fool
,
Madge
.
Kiss
me
good-bye
.
Not
be
a
fool
.
I
'm
done
.
Kids
.
"
She
stared
at
him
and
her
spirit
was
a
luminous
mist
of
tears
.
"
You
old
coward
,
"
she
said
in
his
ear
,
and
kissed
the
little
patch
of
rough
and
bloody
cheek
beneath
his
eye
.
Then
she
knelt
up
beside
him
.
"
I
'm
boss
now
,
old
man
,
"
she
said
.
"
I
want
to
get
you
to
that
place
there
under
the
rock
.
If
I
drag
,
can
you
help
?
"
He
answered
obstinately
:
"
You
'd
better
go
.
"
"
I
'll
make
you
comfortable
first
,
"
she
answered
,
"
anyhow
.
"
He
made
an
enormous
effort
,
and
then
with
her
quick
help
and
with
his
back
to
her
knee
,
had
raised
himself
on
his
elbows
.
"
And
afterwards
?
"
he
asked
.
"
Build
a
fire
.
"
"
Wood
?
"
"
Down
there
.
"
"
Two
bits
of
wood
tied
on
my
leg
—
splints
.
Then
I
can
drag
myself
.
See
?
Like
a
blessed
old
walrus
.
"
He
smiled
,
and
she
kissed
his
bandaged
face
again
.
"
Else
it
hurts
,
"
he
apologized
,
"
more
than
I
can
stand
.
"
She
stood
up
again
,
thought
,
put
his
rifle
and
knife
to
his
hand
for
fear
of
that
lurking
wolf
,
abandoning
her
own
rifle
with
an
effort
,
and
went
striding
and
leaping
from
rock
to
rock
towards
the
trees
below
.
She
made
the
chips
fly
,
and
was
presently
towing
three
venerable
pine
dwarfs
,
bumping
over
rock
and
crevice
,
back
to
Trafford
.
She
flung
them
down
,
stood
for
a
moment
bright
and
breathless
,
then
set
herself
to
hack
off
the
splints
he
needed
from
the
biggest
stem
.
"
Now
,
"
she
said
,
coming
to
him
.
"
A
fool
,
"
he
remarked
,
"
would
have
made
the
splints
down
there
.
You
're
—
good
,
Marjorie
.
"
She
lugged
his
leg
out
straight
,
put
it
into
the
natural
and
least
painful
pose
,
padded
it
with
moss
and
her
torn
handkerchief
,
and
bound
it
up
.
As
she
did
so
a
handful
of
snowflakes
came
whirling
about
them
.
She
was
now
braced
up
to
every
possibility
.
"
It
never
rains
,
"
she
said
grimly
,
"
but
it
pours
,
"
and
went
on
with
her
bone-setting
.
He
was
badly
weakened
by
pain
and
shock
,
and
once
he
swore
at
her
sharply
.
"
Sorry
,
"
he
said
.
She
rolled
him
over
on
his
chest
,
and
left
him
to
struggle
to
the
shelter
of
the
rock
while
she
went
for
more
wood
.
The
sky
alarmed
her
.
The
mountains
up
the
valley
were
already
hidden
by
driven
rags
of
slaty
snowstorms
.
This
time
she
found
a
longer
but
easier
path
for
dragging
her
boughs
and
trees
;
she
determined
she
would
not
start
the
fire
until
nightfall
,
nor
waste
any
time
in
preparing
food
until
then
.
There
were
dead
boughs
for
kindling
—
more
than
enough
.
It
was
snowing
quite
fast
by
the
time
she
got
up
to
him
with
her
second
load
,
and
a
premature
twilight
already
obscured
and
exaggerated
the
rocks
and
mounds
about
her
.
She
gave
some
of
her
cheese
to
Trafford
,
and
gnawed
some
herself
on
her
way
down
to
the
wood
again
.
She
regretted
that
she
had
brought
neither
candles
nor
lantern
,
because
then
she
might
have
kept
on
until
the
cold
of
night
stopped
her
,
and
she
reproached
herself
bitterly
because
she
had
brought
no
tea
.
She
could
forgive
herself
the
lantern
,
she
had
never
expected
to
be
out
after
dark
,
but
the
tea
was
inexcusable
.
She
muttered
self-reproaches
while
she
worked
like
two
men
among
the
trees
,
panting
puffs
of
mist
that
froze
upon
her
lips
and
iced
the
knitted
wool
that
covered
her
chin
.
Why
do
n't
they
teach
a
girl
to
handle
an
axe
?
...
When
at
last
the
wolfish
cold
of
the
Labrador
night
had
come
,
it
found
Trafford
and
Marjorie
seated
almost
warmly
on
a
bed
of
pine
boughs
between
the
sheltering
dark
rock
behind
and
a
big
but
well
husbanded
fire
in
front
,
drinking
a
queer-tasting
but
not
unsavory
soup
of
lynx-flesh
,
that
she
had
fortified
with
the
remainder
of
the
brandy
.
Then
they
tried
roast
lynx
and
ate
a
little
,
and
finished
with
some
scraps
of
cheese
and
deep
draughts
of
hot
water
.
Then
—
oh
Tyburnia
and
Chelsea
and
all
that
is
becoming
!
—
they
smoked
Trafford
's
pipe
for
alternate
minutes
,
and
Marjorie
found
great
comfort
in
it
.
The
snowstorm
poured
incessantly
out
of
the
darkness
to
become
flakes
of
burning
fire
in
the
light
of
the
flames
,
flakes
that
vanished
magically
,
but
it
only
reached
them
and
wetted
them
in
occasional
gusts
.
What
did
it
matter
for
the
moment
if
the
dim
snow-heaps
rose
and
rose
about
them
?
A
glorious
fatigue
,
an
immense
self-satisfaction
possessed
Marjorie
;
she
felt
that
they
had
both
done
well
.
"
I
am
not
afraid
of
to-morrow
now
,
"
she
said
at
last
—
a
thought
matured
.
"
No
!
"
Trafford
had
the
pipe
and
did
not
speak
for
a
moment
.
"
Nor
I
,
"
he
said
at
last
.
"
Very
likely
we
'll
get
through
with
it
.
"
He
added
after
a
pause
:
"
I
thought
I
was
done
for
.
A
man
—
loses
heart
.
After
a
loss
of
blood
.
"
"
The
leg
's
better
?
"
"
Hot
as
fire
.
"
His
humour
had
n't
left
him
.
"
It
's
a
treat
,
"
he
said
.
"
The
hottest
thing
in
Labrador
.
"
"
I
've
been
a
good
squaw
this
time
,
old
man
?
"
she
asked
suddenly
.
He
seemed
not
to
hear
her
;
then
his
lips
twitched
and
he
made
a
feeble
movement
for
her
hand
.
"
I
cursed
you
,
"
he
said
...
.
She
slept
,
but
on
a
spring
as
it
were
,
lest
the
fire
should
fall
.
She
replenished
it
with
boughs
,
tucked
in
the
half-burnt
logs
,
and
went
to
sleep
again
.
Then
it
seemed
to
her
that
some
invisible
hand
was
pouring
a
thin
spirit
on
the
flames
that
made
them
leap
and
crackle
and
spread
north
and
south
until
they
filled
the
heavens
.
Her
eyes
were
open
and
the
snowstorm
overpast
,
leaving
the
sky
clear
,
and
all
the
westward
heaven
alight
with
the
trailing
,
crackling
,
leaping
curtains
of
the
Aurora
,
brighter
than
she
had
ever
seen
them
before
.
Quite
clearly
visible
beyond
the
smoulder
of
the
fire
,
a
wintry
waste
of
rock
and
snow
,
boulder
beyond
boulder
,
passed
into
a
dun
obscurity
.
The
mountain
to
the
right
of
them
lay
long
and
white
and
stiff
,
a
shrouded
death
.
All
earth
was
dead
and
waste
and
nothing
,
and
the
sky
alive
and
coldly
marvellous
,
signalling
and
astir
.
She
watched
the
changing
,
shifting
colours
,
and
they
made
her
think
of
the
gathering
banners
of
inhuman
hosts
,
the
stir
and
marshalling
of
icy
giants
for
ends
stupendous
and
indifferent
to
all
the
trivial
impertinence
of
man
's
existence
...
.
That
night
the
whole
world
of
man
seemed
small
and
shallow
and
insecure
to
her
,
beyond
comparison
.
One
came
,
she
thought
,
but
just
a
little
way
out
of
its
warm
and
sociable
cities
hither
,
and
found
this
homeless
wilderness
;
one
pricked
the
thin
appearances
of
life
with
microscope
or
telescope
and
came
to
an
equal
strangeness
.
All
the
pride
and
hope
of
human
life
goes
to
and
fro
in
a
little
shell
of
air
between
this
ancient
globe
of
rusty
nickel-steel
and
the
void
of
space
;
faint
specks
we
are
within
a
film
;
we
quiver
between
the
atom
and
the
infinite
,
being
hardly
more
substantial
than
the
glow
within
an
oily
skin
that
drifts
upon
the
water
.
The
wonder
and
the
riddle
of
it
!
Here
she
and
Trafford
were
!
Phantasmal
shapes
of
unsubstantial
fluid
thinly
skinned
against
evaporation
and
wrapped
about
with
woven
wool
and
the
skins
of
beasts
,
that
yet
reflected
and
perceived
,
suffered
and
sought
to
understand
;
that
held
a
million
memories
,
framed
thoughts
that
plumbed
the
deeps
of
space
and
time
,
—
and
another
day
of
snow
or
icy
wind
might
leave
them
just
scattered
bones
and
torn
rags
gnawed
by
a
famishing
wolf
!
...
She
felt
a
passionate
desire
to
pray
...
.
She
glanced
at
Trafford
beside
her
,
and
found
him
awake
and
staring
.
His
face
was
very
pale
and
strange
in
that
livid
,
flickering
light
.
She
would
have
spoken
,
and
then
she
saw
his
lips
were
moving
,
and
something
,
something
she
did
not
understand
,
held
her
back
from
doing
so
.
The
bleak
,
slow
dawn
found
Marjorie
intently
busy
.
She
had
made
up
the
fire
,
boiled
water
and
washed
and
dressed
Trafford
's
wounds
,
and
made
another
soup
of
lynx
.
But
Trafford
had
weakened
in
the
night
,
the
stuff
nauseated
him
,
he
refused
it
and
tried
to
smoke
and
was
sick
,
and
then
sat
back
rather
despairfully
after
a
second
attempt
to
persuade
her
to
leave
him
there
to
die
.
This
failure
of
his
spirit
distressed
her
and
a
little
astonished
her
,
but
it
only
made
her
more
resolute
to
go
through
with
her
work
.
She
had
awakened
cold
,
stiff
and
weary
,
but
her
fatigue
vanished
with
movement
;
she
toiled
for
an
hour
replenishing
her
pile
of
fuel
,
made
up
the
fire
,
put
his
gun
ready
to
his
hand
,
kissed
him
,
abused
him
lovingly
for
the
trouble
he
gave
her
until
his
poor
torn
face
lit
in
response
,
and
then
parting
on
a
note
of
cheerful
confidence
set
out
to
return
to
the
hut
.
She
found
the
way
not
altogether
easy
to
make
out
,
wind
and
snow
had
left
scarcely
a
trace
of
their
tracks
,
and
her
mind
was
full
of
the
stores
she
must
bring
and
the
possibility
of
moving
him
nearer
to
the
hut
.
She
was
startled
to
see
by
the
fresh
,
deep
spoor
along
the
ridge
how
near
the
wolf
had
dared
approach
them
in
the
darkness
...
.
Ever
and
again
Marjorie
had
to
halt
and
look
back
to
get
her
direction
right
.
As
it
was
she
came
through
the
willow
scrub
nearly
half
a
mile
above
the
hut
,
and
had
to
follow
the
steep
bank
of
the
frozen
river
down
.
At
one
place
she
nearly
slipped
upon
an
icy
slope
of
rock
.
One
possibility
she
did
not
dare
to
think
of
during
that
time
;
a
blizzard
now
would
cut
her
off
absolutely
from
any
return
to
Trafford
.
Short
of
that
she
believed
she
could
get
through
.
Her
quick
mind
was
full
of
all
she
had
to
do
.
At
first
she
had
thought
chiefly
of
his
immediate
necessities
,
of
food
and
some
sort
of
shelter
.
She
had
got
a
list
of
things
in
her
head
—
meat
extract
,
bandages
,
corrosive
sublimate
by
way
of
antiseptic
,
brandy
,
a
tin
of
beef
,
some
bread
and
so
forth
;
she
went
over
that
several
times
to
be
sure
of
it
,
and
then
for
a
time
she
puzzled
about
a
tent
.
She
thought
she
could
manage
a
bale
of
blankets
on
her
back
,
and
that
she
could
rig
a
sleeping
tent
for
herself
and
Trafford
with
one
and
some
bent
sticks
.
The
big
tent
would
be
too
much
to
strike
and
shift
.
And
then
her
mind
went
on
to
a
bolder
enterprise
,
which
was
to
get
him
home
.
The
nearer
she
could
bring
him
to
the
log
hut
,
the
nearer
they
would
be
to
supplies
.
She
cast
about
for
some
sort
of
sledge
.
The
snow
was
too
soft
and
broken
for
runners
,
especially
among
the
trees
,
but
if
she
could
get
a
flat
of
smooth
wood
she
thought
she
might
be
able
to
drag
him
.
She
decided
to
try
the
side
of
her
bunk
.
She
could
easily
get
that
off
.
She
would
have
,
of
course
,
to
run
it
edgewise
through
the
thickets
and
across
the
ravine
,
but
after
that
she
would
have
almost
clear
going
until
she
reached
the
steep
place
of
broken
rocks
within
two
hundred
yards
of
him
.
The
idea
of
a
sledge
grew
upon
her
,
and
she
planned
to
nail
a
rope
along
the
edge
and
make
a
kind
of
harness
for
herself
.
She
found
the
camping-place
piled
high
with
drifted
snow
,
which
had
invaded
tent
and
hut
,
and
that
some
beast
,
a
wolverine
she
guessed
,
had
been
into
the
hut
,
devoured
every
candle-end
and
the
uppers
of
Trafford
's
well-greased
second
boots
,
and
had
then
gone
to
the
corner
of
the
store
shed
and
clambered
up
to
the
stores
.
She
made
no
account
of
its
depredations
there
,
but
set
herself
to
make
a
sledge
and
get
her
supplies
together
.
There
was
a
gleam
of
sunshine
,
but
she
did
not
like
the
look
of
the
sky
,
and
she
was
horribly
afraid
of
what
might
be
happening
to
Trafford
.
She
carried
her
stuff
through
the
wood
and
across
the
ravine
,
and
returned
for
her
improvised
sledge
.
She
was
still
struggling
with
that
among
the
trees
when
it
began
to
snow
again
.
It
was
hard
then
not
to
be
frantic
in
her
efforts
.
As
it
was
,
she
packed
her
stuff
so
loosely
on
the
planking
that
she
had
to
repack
it
,
and
she
started
without
putting
on
her
snowshoes
,
and
floundered
fifty
yards
before
she
discovered
that
omission
.
The
snow
was
now
falling
fast
,
darkling
the
sky
and
hiding
everything
but
objects
close
at
hand
,
and
she
had
to
use
all
her
wits
to
determine
her
direction
;
she
knew
she
must
go
down
a
long
slope
and
then
up
to
the
ridge
,
and
it
came
to
her
as
a
happy
inspiration
that
if
she
bore
to
the
left
she
might
strike
some
recognizable
vestige
of
her
morning
's
trail
.
She
had
read
of
people
walking
in
circles
when
they
have
no
light
or
guidance
,
and
that
troubled
her
until
she
bethought
herself
of
the
little
compass
on
her
watch
chain
.
By
that
she
kept
her
direction
.
She
wished
very
much
she
had
timed
herself
across
the
waste
,
so
that
she
could
tell
when
she
approached
the
ridge
.
Soon
her
back
and
shoulders
were
aching
violently
,
and
the
rope
across
her
chest
was
tugging
like
some
evil-tempered
thing
.
But
she
did
not
dare
to
rest
.
The
snow
was
now
falling
thick
and
fast
,
the
flakes
traced
white
spirals
and
made
her
head
spin
,
so
that
she
was
constantly
falling
away
to
the
south-westward
and
then
correcting
herself
by
the
compass
.
She
tried
to
think
how
this
zig-zagging
might
affect
her
course
,
but
the
snow
whirls
confused
her
mind
and
a
growing
anxiety
would
not
let
her
pause
to
think
.
She
felt
blinded
;
it
seemed
to
be
snowing
inside
her
eyes
so
that
she
wanted
to
rub
them
.
Soon
the
ground
must
rise
to
the
ridge
,
she
told
herself
;
it
must
surely
rise
.
Then
the
sledge
came
bumping
at
her
heels
and
she
perceived
she
was
going
down
hill
.
She
consulted
the
compass
,
and
she
found
she
was
facing
south
.
She
turned
sharply
to
the
right
again
.
The
snowfall
became
a
noiseless
,
pitiless
torture
to
sight
and
mind
.
The
sledge
behind
her
struggled
to
hold
her
back
,
and
the
snow
balled
under
her
snowshoes
.
She
wanted
to
stop
and
rest
,
take
thought
,
sit
for
a
moment
.
She
struggled
with
herself
and
kept
on
.
She
tried
walking
with
shut
eyes
,
and
tripped
and
came
near
sprawling
.
"
Oh
God
!
"
she
cried
,
"
oh
God
!
"
too
stupefied
for
more
articulate
prayers
.
Would
the
rise
of
the
ground
to
the
ribs
of
rock
never
come
?
A
figure
,
black
and
erect
,
stood
in
front
of
her
suddenly
,
and
beyond
appeared
a
group
of
black
,
straight
antagonists
.
She
staggered
on
towards
them
,
gripping
her
rifle
with
some
muddled
idea
of
defence
,
and
in
another
moment
she
was
brushing
against
the
branches
of
a
stunted
fir
,
which
shed
thick
lumps
of
snow
upon
her
feet
.
What
trees
were
these
?
Had
she
ever
passed
any
trees
?
No
!
There
were
no
trees
on
her
way
to
Trafford
...
.
She
began
whimpering
like
a
tormented
child
.
But
even
as
she
wept
she
turned
her
sledge
about
to
follow
the
edge
of
the
wood
.
She
was
too
much
downhill
,
she
thought
and
she
must
bear
up
again
.
She
left
the
trees
behind
,
made
an
angle
uphill
to
the
right
,
and
was
presently
among
trees
again
.
Again
she
left
them
and
again
came
back
to
them
.
She
screamed
with
anger
at
them
and
twitched
her
sledge
away
.
She
wiped
at
the
snowstorm
with
her
arm
as
though
she
would
wipe
it
away
.
She
wanted
to
stamp
on
the
universe
...
.
And
she
ached
,
she
ached
...
.
Something
caught
her
eye
ahead
,
something
that
gleamed
;
it
was
exactly
like
a
long
,
bare
rather
pinkish
bone
standing
erect
on
the
ground
.
Just
because
it
was
strange
and
queer
she
ran
forward
to
it
.
Then
as
she
came
nearer
she
perceived
it
was
a
streak
of
barked
trunk
;
a
branch
had
been
torn
off
a
pine
tree
and
the
bark
stripped
down
to
the
root
.
And
then
her
foot
hit
against
a
freshly
hewn
stump
,
and
then
came
another
,
poking
its
pinkish
wounds
above
the
snow
.
And
there
were
chips
!
This
filled
her
with
wonder
.
Some
one
had
been
cutting
wood
!
There
must
be
Indians
or
trappers
near
,
she
thought
,
and
then
realized
the
wood-cutter
could
be
none
other
than
herself
.
She
turned
to
the
right
and
saw
the
rocks
rising
steeply
close
at
hand
.
"
Oh
Rag
!
"
she
cried
,
and
fired
her
rifle
in
the
air
.
Ten
seconds
,
twenty
seconds
,
and
then
so
loud
and
near
it
amazed
her
,
came
his
answering
shot
.
It
sounded
like
the
hillside
bursting
.
In
another
moment
she
had
discovered
the
trail
she
had
made
overnight
and
that
morning
by
dragging
firewood
.
It
was
now
a
shallow
soft
white
trench
.
Instantly
her
despair
and
fatigue
had
gone
from
her
.
Should
she
take
a
load
of
wood
with
her
?
she
asked
herself
,
in
addition
to
the
weight
behind
her
,
and
had
a
better
idea
.
She
would
unload
and
pile
her
stuff
here
,
and
bring
him
down
on
the
sledge
closer
to
the
wood
.
She
looked
about
and
saw
two
rocks
that
diverged
with
a
space
between
.
She
flashed
schemes
.
She
would
trample
the
snow
hard
and
flat
,
put
her
sledge
on
it
,
pile
boughs
and
make
a
canopy
of
blanket
overhead
and
behind
.
Then
a
fire
in
front
.
She
saw
her
camp
admirable
.
She
tossed
her
provisions
down
and
ran
up
the
broad
windings
of
her
pine-tree
trail
to
Trafford
,
with
the
unloaded
sledge
bumping
behind
her
.
She
ran
as
lightly
as
though
she
had
done
nothing
that
day
.
She
found
him
markedly
recovered
,
weak
and
quiet
,
with
snow
drifting
over
his
feet
,
his
rifle
across
his
knees
,
and
his
pipe
alight
.
"
Back
already
,
"
he
said
,
"
but
—
—
"
He
hesitated
.
"
No
grub
?
"
She
knelt
over
him
,
gave
his
rough
unshaven
cheek
a
swift
kiss
,
and
very
rapidly
explained
her
plan
.
In
three
days
'
time
they
were
back
at
the
hut
,
and
the
last
two
days
they
wore
blue
spectacles
because
of
the
mid-day
glare
of
the
sunlit
snow
.
It
amazed
Marjorie
to
discover
as
she
lay
awake
in
the
camp
on
the
edge
of
the
ravine
close
to
the
hut
to
which
she
had
lugged
Trafford
during
the
second
day
,
that
she
was
deeply
happy
.
It
was
preposterous
that
she
should
be
so
,
but
those
days
of
almost
despairful
stress
were
irradiated
now
by
a
new
courage
.
She
was
doing
this
thing
,
against
all
Labrador
and
the
snow-driving
wind
that
blew
from
the
polar
wilderness
,
she
was
winning
.
It
was
a
great
discovery
to
her
that
hardship
and
effort
almost
to
the
breaking-point
could
ensue
in
so
deep
a
satisfaction
.
She
lay
and
thought
how
deep
and
rich
life
had
become
for
her
,
as
though
in
all
this
effort
and
struggle
some
unsuspected
veil
had
been
torn
away
.
She
perceived
again
,
but
now
with
no
sense
of
desolation
,
that
same
infinite
fragility
of
life
which
she
had
first
perceived
when
she
had
watched
the
Aurora
Borealis
flickering
up
the
sky
.
Beneath
that
realization
and
carrying
it
,
as
a
river
flood
may
carry
scum
,
was
a
sense
of
herself
as
something
deeper
,
greater
,
more
enduring
than
mountain
or
wilderness
or
sky
,
or
any
of
those
monstrous
forms
of
nature
that
had
dwarfed
her
physical
self
to
nothingness
.
She
had
a
persuasion
of
self
detachment
and
illumination
,
and
withal
of
self-discovery
.
She
saw
her
life
of
time
and
space
for
what
it
was
.
Away
in
London
the
children
,
with
the
coldest
of
noses
and
the
gayest
of
spirits
,
would
be
scampering
about
their
bedrooms
in
the
mild
morning
sunlight
of
a
London
winter
;
Elsie
,
the
parlourmaid
,
would
be
whisking
dexterous
about
the
dining-room
,
the
bacon
would
be
cooking
and
the
coffee-mill
at
work
,
the
letters
of
the
morning
delivery
perhaps
just
pattering
into
the
letter-box
,
and
all
the
bright
little
household
she
had
made
,
with
all
the
furniture
she
had
arranged
,
all
the
characteristic
decoration
she
had
given
it
,
all
the
clever
convenient
arrangements
,
would
be
getting
itself
into
action
for
another
day
—
and
it
was
n't
herself
!
It
was
the
extremest
of
her
superficiality
.
She
had
come
out
of
all
that
,
and
even
so
it
seemed
she
had
come
out
of
herself
;
this
weary
woman
lying
awake
on
the
balsam
boughs
with
a
brain
cleared
by
underfeeding
and
this
continuous
arduous
bath
of
toil
in
snow-washed
,
frost
cleansed
,
starry
air
,
this
,
too
,
was
no
more
than
a
momentarily
clarified
window
for
her
unknown
and
indefinable
reality
.
What
was
that
reality
?
what
was
she
herself
?
She
became
interested
in
framing
an
answer
to
that
,
and
slipped
down
from
the
peace
of
soul
she
had
attained
.
Her
serenity
gave
way
to
a
reiteration
of
this
question
,
reiterations
increasing
and
at
last
oppressing
like
the
snowflakes
of
a
storm
,
perpetual
whirling
repetitions
that
at
last
confused
her
and
hid
the
sky
...
.
She
fell
asleep
...
.
With
their
return
to
the
hut
,
Marjorie
had
found
herself
encountering
a
new
set
of
urgencies
.
In
their
absence
that
wretched
little
wolverine
had
found
great
plenty
and
happiness
in
the
tent
and
store-shed
;
its
traces
were
manifest
nearly
everywhere
,
and
it
had
particularly
assailed
the
candles
,
after
a
destructive
time
among
the
frozen
caribou
beef
.
It
had
clambered
up
on
the
packages
of
sardines
and
jumped
thence
on
to
a
sloping
pole
that
it
could
claw
along
into
the
frame
of
the
roof
.
She
rearranged
the
packages
,
but
that
was
no
good
.
She
could
not
leave
Trafford
in
order
to
track
the
brute
down
,
and
for
a
night
or
so
she
could
not
think
of
any
way
of
checking
its
depredations
.
It
came
each
night
...
.
Trafford
kept
her
close
at
home
.
She
had
expected
that
when
he
was
back
in
his
bunk
,
secure
and
warm
,
he
would
heal
rapidly
,
but
instead
he
suddenly
developed
all
the
symptoms
of
a
severe
feverish
cold
,
and
his
scars
,
which
had
seemed
healing
,
became
flushed
and
ugly-looking
.
Moreover
,
there
was
something
wrong
with
his
leg
,
an
ominous
ache
that
troubled
her
mind
.
Every
woman
,
she
decided
,
ought
to
know
how
to
set
a
bone
.
He
was
unable
to
sleep
by
reason
of
these
miseries
,
though
very
desirous
of
doing
so
.
He
became
distressingly
weak
and
inert
,
he
ceased
to
care
for
food
,
and
presently
he
began
ta
talk
to
himself
with
a
complete
disregard
of
her
presence
.
Hourly
she
regretted
her
ignorance
of
medicine
that
left
her
with
no
conceivable
remedy
for
all
the
aching
and
gnawing
that
worried
and
weakened
him
,
except
bathing
with
antiseptics
and
a
liberal
use
of
quinine
.
And
his
face
became
strange
to
her
,
for
over
his
flushed
and
sunken
cheeks
,
under
the
raw
spaces
of
the
scar
a
blond
beard
bristled
and
grew
.
Presently
,
Trafford
was
a
bearded
man
.
Incidentally
,
however
,
she
killed
the
wolverine
by
means
of
a
trap
of
her
own
contrivance
,
a
loaded
rifle
with
a
bait
of
what
was
nearly
her
last
candles
,
rigged
to
the
trigger
.
But
this
loss
of
the
candles
brought
home
to
them
the
steady
lengthening
of
the
nights
.
Scarcely
seven
hours
of
day
remained
now
in
the
black
,
cold
grip
of
the
darkness
.
And
through
those
seventeen
hours
of
chill
aggression
they
had
no
light
but
the
red
glow
of
the
stove
.
She
had
to
close
the
door
of
the
hut
and
bar
every
chink
and
cranny
against
the
icy
air
,
that
became
at
last
a
murderous
,
freezing
wind
.
Not
only
did
she
line
the
hut
with
every
scrap
of
skin
and
paper
she
could
obtain
,
but
she
went
out
with
the
spade
toiling
for
three
laborious
afternoons
in
piling
and
beating
snow
against
the
outer
frame
.
And
now
it
was
that
Trafford
talked
at
last
,
talked
with
something
of
the
persistence
of
delirium
,
and
she
sat
and
listened
hour
by
hour
,
silently
,
for
he
gave
no
heed
to
her
or
to
anything
she
might
say
.
He
talked
,
it
seemed
,
to
God
...
.
Darkness
about
a
sullen
glow
of
red
,
and
a
voice
speaking
.
The
voice
of
a
man
,
fevered
and
in
pain
,
wounded
and
amidst
hardship
and
danger
,
struggling
with
the
unrelenting
riddle
of
his
being
.
Ever
and
again
when
a
flame
leapt
she
would
see
his
face
,
haggard
,
bearded
,
changed
,
and
yet
infinitely
familiar
.
His
voice
varied
,
now
high
and
clear
,
now
mumbling
,
now
vexed
and
expostulating
,
now
rich
with
deep
feeling
,
now
fagged
and
slow
;
his
matter
varied
,
too
;
now
he
talked
like
one
who
is
inspired
,
and
now
like
one
lost
and
confused
,
stupidly
repeating
phrases
,
going
back
upon
a
misleading
argument
,
painfully
,
laboriously
beginning
over
and
over
again
.
Marjorie
sat
before
the
stove
watching
it
burn
and
sink
,
replenishing
it
,
preparing
food
,
and
outside
the
bitter
wind
moaned
and
blew
the
powdery
snow
before
it
,
and
the
shortening
interludes
of
pallid
,
diffused
daylight
which
pass
for
days
in
such
weather
,
came
and
went
.
Intense
cold
had
come
now
with
leaden
snowy
days
and
starless
nights
.
Sometimes
his
speech
filled
her
mind
,
seemed
to
fill
all
her
world
;
sometimes
she
ceased
to
listen
,
following
thoughts
of
her
own
.
Sometimes
she
dozed
;
sometimes
she
awakened
from
sleep
to
find
him
talking
.
But
slowly
she
realized
a
thread
in
his
discourse
,
a
progress
and
development
.
Sometimes
he
talked
of
his
early
researches
,
and
then
he
would
trace
computations
with
his
hands
as
if
he
were
using
a
blackboard
,
and
became
distressed
to
remember
what
he
had
written
.
Sometimes
he
would
be
under
the
claws
of
the
lynx
again
,
and
fighting
for
his
eyes
.
"
Ugh
!
"
he
said
,
"
keep
those
hind
legs
still
.
Keep
your
hind
legs
still
!
Knife
?
Knife
?
Ah
!
got
it
.
Gu
—
u
—
u
,
you
Beast
!
"
But
the
gist
of
his
speech
was
determined
by
the
purpose
of
his
journey
to
Labrador
.
At
last
he
was
reviewing
his
life
and
hers
,
and
all
that
their
life
might
signify
,
even
as
he
determined
to
do
.
She
began
to
perceive
that
whatever
else
drifted
into
his
mind
and
talk
,
this
recurred
and
grew
,
that
he
returned
to
the
conclusion
he
had
reached
,
and
not
to
the
beginning
of
the
matter
,
and
went
on
from
that
...
.
"
You
see
,
"
he
said
,
"
our
lives
are
nothing
—
nothing
in
themselves
.
I
know
that
;
I
've
never
had
any
doubts
of
that
.
We
individuals
just
pick
up
a
mixed
lot
of
things
out
of
the
powers
that
begat
us
,
and
lay
them
down
again
presently
a
little
altered
,
that
's
all
—
heredities
,
traditions
,
the
finger
nails
of
my
grandfather
,
a
great-aunt
's
lips
,
the
faith
of
a
sect
,
the
ideas
of
one
's
time
.
We
live
and
then
we
die
,
and
the
threads
run
,
dispersing
this
way
and
that
.
To
make
other
people
again
.
Whatever
's
immortal
is
n't
that
,
our
looks
or
our
habits
,
our
thoughts
or
our
memories
—
just
the
shapes
,
these
are
,
of
one
immortal
stuff
...
.
One
immortal
stuff
.
"
...
The
voice
died
away
as
if
he
was
baffled
.
Then
it
resumed
.
"
But
we
ought
to
partake
of
immortality
;
that
's
my
point
.
We
ought
to
partake
of
immortality
.
"
I
mean
we
're
like
the
little
elements
in
a
magnet
;
ought
not
to
lie
higgledy-piggledy
,
ought
to
point
the
same
way
,
be
polarized
—
—
Something
microcosmic
,
you
know
,
ought
to
be
found
in
a
man
.
"
Analogies
run
away
with
one
.
Suppose
the
bar
is
n't
magnetized
yet
!
Suppose
purpose
has
to
come
;
suppose
the
immortal
stuff
is
n't
yet
,
is
n't
being
but
struggling
to
be
.
Struggling
to
be
...
.
Gods
!
that
morning
!
When
the
child
was
born
!
And
afterwards
she
was
there
—
with
a
smile
on
her
lips
,
and
a
little
flushed
and
proud
—
as
if
nothing
had
happened
so
very
much
out
of
the
way
.
Nothing
so
wonderful
.
And
we
had
another
life
besides
our
own
!
...
"
Afterwards
he
came
back
to
that
.
"
That
was
a
good
image
,
"
he
said
,
"
something
trying
to
exist
,
which
is
n't
substance
,
does
n't
belong
to
space
or
time
,
something
stifled
and
enclosed
,
struggling
to
get
through
.
Just
confused
birth
cries
,
eyes
that
hardly
see
,
deaf
ears
,
poor
little
thrusting
hands
.
A
thing
altogether
blind
at
first
,
a
twitching
and
thrusting
of
protoplasm
under
the
waters
,
and
then
the
plants
creeping
up
the
beaches
,
the
insects
and
reptiles
on
the
margins
of
the
rivers
,
beasts
with
a
flicker
of
light
in
their
eyes
answering
the
sun
.
And
at
last
,
out
of
the
long
interplay
of
desire
and
fear
,
an
ape
,
an
ape
that
stared
and
wondered
,
and
scratched
queer
pictures
on
a
bone
...
.
"
He
lapsed
into
silent
thought
for
a
time
,
and
Marjorie
glanced
at
his
dim
face
in
the
shadows
.
"
I
say
nothing
of
ultimates
,
"
he
said
at
last
.
He
repeated
that
twice
before
his
thoughts
would
flow
again
.
"
This
is
as
much
as
I
see
,
in
time
as
I
know
it
and
space
as
I
know
it
—
something
struggling
to
exist
.
It
's
true
to
the
end
of
my
limits
.
What
can
I
say
beyond
that
?
It
struggles
to
exist
,
becomes
conscious
,
becomes
now
conscious
of
itself
.
That
is
where
I
come
in
,
as
a
part
of
it
.
Above
the
beast
in
me
is
that
—
the
desire
to
know
better
,
to
know
—
beautifully
,
and
to
transmit
my
knowledge
.
That
's
all
there
is
in
life
for
me
beyond
food
and
shelter
and
tidying
up
.
This
Being
—
opening
its
eyes
,
listening
,
trying
to
comprehend
.
Every
good
thing
in
man
is
that
;
—
looking
and
making
pictures
,
listening
and
making
songs
,
making
philosophies
and
sciences
,
trying
new
powers
,
bridge
and
engine
,
spark
and
gun
.
At
the
bottom
of
my
soul
,
that
.
We
began
with
bone-scratching
.
We
're
still
—
near
it
.
I
am
just
a
part
of
this
beginning
—
mixed
with
other
things
.
Every
book
,
every
art
,
every
religion
is
that
,
the
attempt
to
understand
and
express
—
mixed
with
other
things
.
Nothing
else
matters
,
nothing
whatever
.
I
tell
you
—
—
Nothing
whatever
!
"
I
've
always
believed
that
.
All
my
life
I
've
believed
that
.
"
Only
I
've
forgotten
.
"
"
Every
man
with
any
brains
believes
that
at
the
bottom
of
his
heart
.
Only
he
gets
busy
and
forgets
.
He
goes
shooting
lynxes
and
breaks
his
leg
.
Odd
,
instinctive
,
brutal
thing
to
do
—
to
go
tracking
down
a
lynx
to
kill
it
!
I
grant
you
that
,
Marjorie
.
I
grant
you
that
.
"
"
Grant
me
what
?
"
she
cried
,
startled
beyond
measure
to
hear
herself
addressed
.
"
Grant
you
that
it
is
rather
absurd
to
go
hunting
a
lynx
.
And
what
big
paws
it
has
—
disproportionately
big
!
I
wonder
if
that
's
an
adaptation
to
snow
.
Tremendous
paws
they
are
...
.
But
the
real
thing
,
I
was
saying
,
the
real
thing
is
to
get
knowledge
,
and
express
it
.
All
things
lead
up
to
that
.
Civilization
,
social
order
,
just
for
that
.
Except
for
that
,
all
the
life
of
man
,
all
his
affairs
,
his
laws
and
police
,
his
morals
and
