"The world," said the woman reflectively. "I don't mean to say that it means nothing to me, but it has cause enough for what it would fain say now." She came to her decision swiftly. "There is no help for it," she continued; "we are marooned together." She smiled faintly as she used the old word of tropic island and southern sea. "You have shown me that you are a man and a gentleman, in God and you I put my trust. When my foot gets well, if you can teach me to walk on snow shoes and it is possible to get through the passes, we will try to go back; if not, we must wait."
"The decision is yours," said the man, "yet I feel that I ought to point out to you how—"
"I see all that you see," she interrupted. "I know what is in your mind, it is entirely clear to me, we can do nothing else."
"So be it. You need have no apprehension as to your material comfort; I have lived in these mountains for a long time, I am prepared for any emergency, I pass my time in the summer getting ready for the winter. There is a cave, or recess rather, behind the house which, as you see, is built against the rock wall, and it is filled with wood enough to keep us warm for two or three winters; I have an ample supply of provisions and clothing for my own needs, but you will need something warmer than that you wear," he continued.
"Have you needle and thread and cloth?" she asked.
"Everything," was the prompt answer.
"Are you that wonder of wonders," asked the man, smiling slightly, "an educated woman who knows how to sew?"
"It is a tradition of Philadelphia," answered the girl, "that her daughters should be expert needlewomen."
"Oh, you are from Philadelphia."