The two women understood that this night was to bring them into closer intimacy with the stranger than before. He could not remain outdoors, and though they now knew something of his desperate character, they had no fear of him. He had shown his chivalry. No one could have been more considerate of them, for he absented himself at Peggy’s request instantly and without suggestion of jocularity, and when he came in and found them both in bed he said:
“I reckon I’ll not make down to-night—you’ll need all your blankets before morning”; and thereupon without weighing their protests, proceeded to spread the extra cover over them.
Alice looked up at him in the dim light of the candle and softly asked: “What will you do? You will suffer with cold!”
“Don’t worry about me; I’m an old campaigner. I still have a blanket to wrap around my shoulders. I’ll snooze in a corner. If you hear me moving around don’t be worried; I’m hired to keep the fire going even if it doesn’t do us much good inside.”
The chill deepened. The wind began to roar, and great masses of snow, dislodged from the tall trees above the cabin, fell upon its roof with sounds like those of soft, slow footfalls. Strange noises of creaking and groaning and rasping penetrated to Alice’s ears, and she cowered half in fear, half in joy of her shelter and her male protector. Men were fine animals for the wild.
She fell asleep at last, seeing her knight’s dim form propped against the wall, wrapped in a blanket Indian-wise, his head bowed over the book she had given him, a candle smoking in his hand.
She woke when he rose to feed the fire, and the current of cold air which swept in caused her to cover her mouth with the blanket. He turned toward her.
“It’s all over for sure, this time,” he said. “It’s cold and goin’ to be colder. How are you standing it? If your feet are cold I can heat a stone. How is the hurt foot?” He drew near and looked down upon her anxiously.
“Very much easier, thank you.”
“I’m mighty glad of that. I wish I could take the pain all on myself.”