Every inch of her bore the hall-mark of wealth.The ermine-lined motoring-cloak, the broadcloth cut on ****** lines of elegance, the quality of her lingerie and of the hosiery which incased the wonderfully small feet, all told of a padded existence from which the cares of life had been excluded.The satin flesh he massaged, to renew the flow of the dammed blood, was soft and tender like a babe's.Quite surely she was an exotic, the last woman in the world fitted for the hardships of this frontier country.She had none of the deep-breasted vitality of those of her *** who have fought with grim nature and won.His experience told him that a very little longer in the storm would have snuffed out the wick of her life.
But he knew, too, that the danger was past.Faint tints of pink were beginning to warm the cheeks that had been so deathly pallid.Already crimson lips were offering a vivid contrast to the still, almost colorless face.
For she was biting the little lips to try and keep back the cries of pain that returning life wrung from her.Big tears coursed down her cheeks, and broken sobs caught her breath.She was helpless as an infant before the searching pain that wracked her"I can't stand it--I can't stand it," she moaned, and in her distress stretched out her little hand for relief as a baby might to its mother.
The childlike appeal of the flinching violet eyes in the tortured face moved him strangely.He was accounted a hard man, not without reason.His eyes were those of a gambler, cold and vigilant.It was said that he could follow an undeviating course without relenting at the ruin andmisery wrought upon others by his operations.But the helpless loveliness of this exquisitely dainty child-woman, the sense of intimacy bred of a common peril endured, of the strangeness of their environment and of her utter dependence upon him, carried the man out of himself and away from conventions.
He stooped and gathered her into his arms, walking the floor with her and cheering her as if she had indeed been the child they both for the moment conceived her.
"You don't know how it hurts," she pleaded between sobs, looking up into the strong face so close to hers.
"I know it must, dear.But soon it will be better.Every twinge is one less, and shows that you are getting well.Be brave for just a few minutes more now."She smiled wanly through her tears."But I'm not brave.I'm a little coward--and it does pain so.""I know--I know.It is dreadful.But just a few minutes now.""You're good to me," she said presently, simply as a little girl might have said it.
To neither of them did it seem strange that she should be there in his arms, her fair head against his shoulder, nor that she should cling convulsively to him when the fierce pain tingled unbearably.She had reached out for the nearest help, and he gave of his strength and courage abundantly.
Presently the prickling of the flowing blood grew less sharp.She began to grow drowsy with warmth after the fatigue and pain.The big eyes shut, fluttered open, smiled at him, and again closed.She had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion.
He looked down with an odd queer feeling at the small aristocratic face relaxed upon his ann.The long lashes had drooped to the cheeks and shuttered the eyes that had met his with such confident appeal, but they did not hide the dark rings underneath, born of the hardships she had endured.As he walked the floor with her, he lived once more the terrible struggle through which they had passed.He saw Death stretching out icy hands for her, and as his arms unconsciously tightened about the softrounded body, his square jaw set and the fighting spark leaped to his eyes."No, by Heaven," he gave back aloud his defiance.
Troubled dreams pursued her in her sleep.She clung close to him, her arm creeping round his neck for safety.He was a man not given to fine scruples, but all the best in him responded to her unconscious trust.
It was so she found herself when she awakened, stiff from her cramped position.She slipped at once to the floor and sat there drying her lace skirts, the sweet piquancy of her childish face set out by the leaping fire- glow that lit and shadowed her delicate coloring.Outside in the gray darkness raged the death from which he had snatched her by a miracle.Beyond--a million miles away--the world whose claim had loosened on them was going through its routine of lies and love, of hypocrisies and heroisms.But here were just they two, flung back to the primordial type by the fierce battle for existence that had encompassed them--Adam and Eve in the garden, one to one, all else forgot, all other ties and obligations for the moment obliterated.Had they not struggled, heart beating against heart, with the breath of death icing them, and come out alive? Was their world not contracted to a space ten feet by twelve, shut in from every other planet by an illimitable stretch of storm?
"Where should I have been if you had not found me?" she murmured, her haunting eyes fixed on the flames.
"But I should have found you--no matter where you had been, I should have found you."The words seemed to leap from him of themselves.He was sure he had not meant to speak them, to voice so soon the claim that seemed to him so natural and reasonable.
She considered his words and found delight in acquiescing at once.The unconscious demand for life, for love, of her starved soul had never been gratified.But he had come to her through that fearful valley of death, because he must, because it had always been meant he should.
Her lustrous eyes, big with faith, looked up and met his.
The far, wise voices of the world were storm-deadened.They cried no warning to these drifting hearts.How should they know in that moment when their souls reached toward each other that the wisdom of the ageshad decreed their yearning futile?
