From that state she would never have roused but for the efforts of Harry. There was not a moment to lose; the rest of the party were almost out of sight, and to lose them would be to be without a guide in this wilderness of snow.
It was no time for ceremony. With a hasty “You must excuse me, then,” Harry took her light form up in his arms and trudged on as well as he could, striving only to keep the men in sight.
When, after efforts that tried his strength to its limits, he reached the farmhouse where Miss Grey boarded, he staggered up the steps, burst open the door, and almost fell on the floor with his unconscious burden.
The family rushed to his aid; took Miss Grey’s limp form, laid it on a lounge, and some set to work to restore her, while others helped Harry to free himself from snow and thaw himself out.
When, after some time, Miss Grey was fully recovered, and both she and Harry had eaten a very welcome breakfast, he rose to go to his own home not far away, she rose, too, and said earnestly:—
“Harry, I don’t know what to say! I believe you have saved my life—what can I say—what can I ever do”—
“Promise that you won’t give up the school and go away!” burst eagerly from Harry’s lips.
“Do you really care so much to have me stay?” she asked, somewhat surprised, for she had sometimes been obliged to assert her authority very sternly.
“Yes, I do!” he said, bluntly. “I—I”—he went on embarrassed, “I’ve been a donkey and given you trouble—I’d like to kick myself—but you’re a brick and I’ll behave myself—if you’ll stay.”
“I will,” said Miss Grey cordially, “and I depend on you to be the help you were last night. I might never”—here she broke down.