For an instant his eyes wandered.  Beyond her presence the room was empty.  He saw a door, and observed that it opened into another room, which in turn could be entered through the platform door behind him.  With his old exactness for detail he leaped to definite conclusion.  These were Meleese’s apartments at the post, separated from all others—­and Meleese was preparing to retire for the night.  If the outer door was not locked, and he entered, what danger could there be of interruption?  It was late.  The post was asleep.  He had seen no light but that in the window through which he was staring.

The thought was scarcely born before he was at the platform door.  The latch clicked gently under his fingers; cautiously he pushed the door inward and thrust in his head and shoulders.  The air inside was cold and frosty.  He reached out an arm to the right and his hand encountered the rough-hewn surface of a wall; he advanced a step and reached out to the left.  There, too, his hand touched a wall.  He was in a narrow:  corridor.  Ahead of him there shone a thin ray of light from under the door that opened into Meleese’s room.  Nerving himself for the last move, he went boldly to the door, knocked lightly to give some warning of his presence, and entered.  Meleese was gone.  He closed the door behind him, scarce believing his eyes.  Then at the far end of the room he saw a curtain, undulating slightly as if from the movement of a person on the other side of it.

“Meleese!” he called softly.

White and dripping with snow, his face bloodless in the tense excitement of the moment, he stood with his arms half reaching out when the curtain was thrust aside and the girl stood before him.  At first she did not recognize him in his ghostly storm-covered disguise.  But before the startled cry that was on her lips found utterance the fear that had blanched her face gave place to a swift sweeping flood of color.  For a space there was no word between them as they stood separated by the breadth of the room, Howland with his arms held out to her in pleading silence, Meleese with her hands clutched to her bosom, her throat atremble with strange sobbing notes that made no more sound than the fluttering of a bird’s wing.

And Howland, as he came across the room to her, found no words to say—­none of the things that he had meant to whisper to her, but drew her to him and crushed her close to his breast, knowing that in this moment nothing could tell her more eloquently than the throbbing of his own heart, the passionate pressure of his face to her face, of his great love which seemed to stir into life the very silence that encompassed them.