"Leave me here," moaned Onawa. "I would lie until the great sleep comes."
"I am your sister. I may not leave you thus to die. Yonder food awaits you, and drink, and the warmth of burning logs."
She assisted Onawa to rise. The girl staggered and clung with dead hands. Together they passed down the slope, and so came to the cabin cunningly hidden amid snowy bush. A fire burnt redly, and hard by stood a stone vessel filled with rice-water. Towards this Onawa reached her hands, with the cry:
"I am tortured with thirst."
Without a word her sister gave her drink, and watched her while she gulped at the tepid liquor. Suddenly she put out her hand, and grasped the vessel, saying:
"See! I have meat ready for you."
Onawa partook of the food like a famished beast, and as strength returned the former love of life awoke, and she longed to go forth to renew the hopeless quest; but she felt her sister's eyes reading her thoughts, and presently she heard that sister's voice:
"It is good to live, Onawa."
She made no reply, but leaned forward, thrusting her hands against the scarlet wood.
"Even when son and husband are taken away, and the light fails, and all the ground is dark, it is still good to live," went on the voice. "Why the good God gives this love of life we may not know."