Page:Scribner's Monthly, Volume 12 (May–October 1876).djvu/122

 Upheld by these reflections, she followed the path which he had taken the night before. At first she flitted like a bird over the snow, thinking how in happy hours to come, she would tell Antoine of her adventurous search for him. But it was not long before she felt the depressing effect of weariness. And as she entered the new trail the day was done, and she sat down to wait until the rising moon would show her the way.

Wrapping her blanket around her and muffling her chilled face in it, she nestled beside a great tree for what warmth its shelter might give. The day and preceding night had been wonderfully mild, but now the night was growing intensely cold, and she begrudged every moment of inaction. But to go forward she did not dare, for, if she once strayed from her way in the darkness, she was hopelessly lost. The chill air benumbed her mentally and physically, and she had not been long in her sheltered nook before she succumbed to the sleep which anxiety had banished the night before.

Whether she slept for a long or a short time she did not know, for her sleep was as heavy and dreamless as death. She only knew that she sprang to her feet, wide awake, after the first moment of confusion, hearing her name called loudly, as if from empty space. She listened breathlessly for a repetition of the sound, but the forest was perfectly silent. A superstitious feeling that it was an unearthly voice which had called her, came over her and filled her with awe which made her silent. And, crossing herself and murmuring a prayer, she once more went forward through the moonlit woods. But all her buoyancy and hope were gone. It was hard to keep back the tears which loneliness, fear, and cold forced into her eyes. For the first time in her life, she had to depend entirely upon herself, and never before had she been so helpless, so defenseless.

She walked heavily on, benumbed by the cold, with only consciousness sufficient to keep upon the river, which she had been told was her nearest way home.

A short distance before her she saw her path obstructed by a fallen tree, and she was about to scramble up the bank and make her way around it when her heart gave a great bound of fear as she saw the green boughs suddenly moved. The certainty that she now had a fierce, starved animal to face, broke down all her courage, and in an instant the woods rang with a loud cry of despair. At the sound, the green screen was put swiftly aside, and a human face, haggard and pale, looked out at her. Looked blankly at first, then the eyes lit it up and the warm blood flushed over it, and her cry was answered by one of joy and triumph.

"Marie, Marie, art thou here?"

Where was the loneliness and coldness of a moment before? That cry peopled the world for her, and filled the forest with the glory of summer. In an instant she was upon the tree, her arms were around her husband's neck, her kisses upon his lips. For some moments words were not needed; it was enough that they were together once more. Then Antoine, with his head drooping weakly upon her breast, said:

"Marie, I knew that thou wouldst come. I could not die without thee."

"Die, Antoine! Do not speak of dying. But why art thou here?" and for the first time she looked about her for the cause.

"I cannot move, Marie. I have been here since last night. My arm is broken. These boughs hold me fast."

"Oh, Antoine!" and the horror which he felt when he first realized his fate was now felt by her. Still she would not believe the hopelessness of his situation, and, seizing his bonds, tried with all her strength to sever them, and together they fought his strange captor; but the struggle was short, and Antoine said:

"It is hopeless, Marie. My strength is all gone. I cannot aid thee. I must die here. Take the heavy burden from my shoulders. Sit down beside me, Marie. Let me feel thine arms once more around me, and with thee near me I will not be afraid to die."

Marie quickly undid the fastenings of his pack and laid it aside, and at once renewed her endeavors to release him. She broke away the slender branches, and then with the knife from his belt began to cut the stronger ones. But just as her labor seemed about to succeed he called out to her:

"Stop, Marie. The ice is broken beneath me. If you release me I shall fall. The current will carry me under the ice and I shall drown. Only let death come to me in thy presence and I am resigned."

Once more she crept back to him, this time heart-broken and despairing.

"Let me go back to the camp, Antoine, and bring thee aid."

But he only shook his head, and drew her more closely to him, saying:

"Do not leave me. I should not be alive when thou wouldst return. The sight