One thing only seemed clear to him:  the time had come when a man must seek to hold himself in check, when he must not leap, when he must strive with all the stubborn will in him to reserve judgment.  His own life’s crisis had come to him, revealing itself with the blinding swiftness of a flash of lightning.  A step forward or back now would be one step toward which his entire destiny, from the hour of birth until now, had led him; there would be no retracing it; it would be final; and everything—­everything—­was at stake.  He must think; he must try to understand all that Gloria had experienced; to see what impulses had moved her; to make allowances for her; to come to read aright what lay in her heart.  He must see clearly into two human hearts!  Task for the gods!  As though the wilderness about him were a colossal malevolent entity endowed with the power to look into human breasts, it jeered at him with its voice of the wind.

He had but half a mind to give to physical senses.  Though the wind howled all night long, he scarce was conscious of it; though the cold increased, he did not know that he was cold before he had grown numb.  He had given to Gloria all of their bedding, save alone the one blanket he had wrapped about him; he had kept on all his clothing, buttoned up his coat, and forgotten that he was not warmly covered.  Now he got up and walked up and down; he made the fire blaze up; he sat huddled over it until it burned down to a bed of glowing red coals.

Once or twice he heard Gloria stir restlessly upon her fir-bough bed.  But he did not speak.  There was nothing to be said between them now; they would wait until she had rested, until morning.  Then there would be no more delay.  They would understand each other then as few men and women had understood; there would be plain words and but few of them.  He grew impatient for morning and sat looking forward to its coming with a face set and hard, growing as stern as death.

Gloria, exhausted, had gone to sleep, snuggled warmly into her blankets.  It was the wind that awoke her; she started wide awake, her heart in her throat, startled by the flapping of the canvas at her head.  She lay still and looked up; the pines were black and swayed dismally; the wind among them made shuddersome music; the cold began to drive through her blankets, through her clothing.  Her body was stiff and sore; the branches of fir under her hurt her through the canvas and one blanket which covered them.  She turned, twisting into a position of less discomfort.  The creek babbled and splashed; its voice merged with the wilds into a bleak, cheerless duet.

She lifted her head a little; the fire was dying out and King had gone!  The darkness bore down upon her; she heard everywhere vague sounds, noises as of stealthy feet.  She knew a moment of blind terror; she tried to cry out but only a little choking gasp resulted.  She saw something moving, a vague, formless, dreadful something, and lay back, chilled with fright.  It was King; he was bringing fresh fuel.  She sank back and again looked up at the pines swaying against the field of stars.  She began to shiver; a nervous chill.  She felt the slow tears form and spill over and trickle down her cheeks.  She gathered her nether lip between her teeth and lay very still, shaken now and then by a noiseless sob.