chair and fumbled upon the counter for a candle which he handed to Downey. "We'll be goin' to bed, now," he said, "It's late."
IV
Upon a bunk built against the wall of a tiny cabin of logs five hundred miles to the northward of Lashing Water post the sick woman turned her head feebly and smiled into the tear-dimmed eyes of the man who leaned over her: "It's all right, Murdo," she murmured, "The pain in my side seems better. I think I slept a little."
Murdo MacFarlane nodded: "Yes, Margot, you have been asleep for an hour. In a few days, now, I'm thinkin' you'll be sittin' up, an' in a week's time you'll be on your feet again."
The woman's eyes closed, and by the tightening of the drawn lips her husband knew that she was enduring another paroxysm of the terrible pain. Outside, the wind tore at the eaves, the sound muffled by its full freighting of snow. And on the wooden shelf above the man's head the little alarm clock ticked brassily.
Once more Margot's eyes opened and the muscles of the white pain-racked face relaxed. The breath rushed in quick jerky stabs between the parted lips that smiled bravely. "We are not children, Murdo—you and I," she whispered. "We must not be afraid to face—this thing. We have found much
happiness together. That will be ours always. Nothing can rob us of that. We have had it. And now you must face a great unhappiness. I am going to die. In your eyes I have seen that you, too, know this—when you thought I slept. To-day—to-night—not later than to-morrow I must go away. I am not afraid to go—only sorry. We would have had many more years of happiness, Murdo—you—and I—and the little one—" The low voice faltered and broke, and the dark eyes brimmed with tears.
The man's hands clenched till the nails bit deep into the palms. A great dry sob shook the drooped shoulders: "God!" he breathed, hoarsely, "An' it's all my fault for bringin' you into this damned waste of snow an' ice, an' bitter cold!"
"No, Murdo, it is not your fault. I was as anxious to come as you were. I am a child of the North, and I love the North. I love its storms and its sunshine. I love even the grim cruelty of it—its relentless snuffing out of lives in the guarding of its secrets. Strong men have gone to their death fighting it, and more men will go—why then should not I, who am a woman, go also? But, it would have been the same if we had stayed at Lashing Water. I know what this sickness is. I have seen men die of it before—Nash, of the Mounted—and Nokoto, a Company Indian. It is the appendicitis, and no doctor could have got to Lashing Water in time, any more than he could have got here. They sent the fastest dog-team on the river when Nash was
sick, and before the doctor came he was dead. It is not your fault, my husband. It is no one's fault. There is a time when each of us must die. My time is now. That is all." She ceased speaking, and with an effort that brought little beads of cold sweat to her forehead, she raised herself upon her elbow and pointed a faltering forefinger toward the little roughly made crib that stood close beside the bunk. "Promise me, Murdo," she gasped, "promise me upon your soul that you will see—that—she—that she shall go to school! More than I have gone, for there are many things I do not know. I have read in books things I do not understand."