"And in that case—"
"I am afraid," was the slow reply, "that you will have to stay here"—he hesitated in the face of her white still face—"all winter," he added desperately.
"Alone!" exclaimed the girl faintly. "With you?"
"Miss Maitland," said the man resolutely, "I might as well tell you the truth. I can make my way to the settlements now or later, but it will be a journey of perhaps a week. There will be no danger to me, but you will have to stay here. You could not go with me. If I am any judge you couldn't possibly use your foot for a mountain journey for at least three weeks, and by that time we shall be snowed in as effectually as if we were within the Arctic Circle. But if you will let me go alone to the settlement I can bring back your uncle, and a woman to keep you company, before the trails are impassable. Or enough men to make it practicable to take you through the cañons and down the trails to your home again. I could not do that alone even if you were well, in the depth of the winter."
The girl shook her head stubbornly.
"A week alone in these mountains and I should be mad," she said decisively. "It isn't to be thought of."
"It must be thought of," urged the man. "You don't understand. It is either that or spend the winter here—with me."
The woman looked at him steadily.
"And what have I to fear from you?" she asked.
"Nothing, nothing," protested the other, "but the world?"