The little old horse left them and, though they shoed patiently for miles following his track, it was only to find his bones gnawed clean by coyotes or by wolves.  Sheila’s tears froze to her lashes, but Miss Blake’s face went a little pale.  She said nothing, and in her steps Sheila plodded home in silence.  That evening Miss Blake laid hands on her....  They had washed up their dishes.  Sheila was putting a log on the fire.  It rolled out of her grasp to the bearskin rug and struck Miss Blake’s foot.  Before Sheila could even say her quick “I’m sorry,” the woman had come at her with a sort of spring, had gripped her by the shoulders, had shaken her with ferocity, and let her go.  Sheila fell back, her own hands raised to her bruised shoulders, her eyes phosphorescent in a pale face.

“Miss Blake, how dare you touch me!”

The woman kicked back the log, turned a red face, and laughed.

“Dare!  You little silly!  What’s to scare me of you?”

An awful conviction of helplessness depressed Sheila’s heart, but she kept her eyes leveled on Miss Blake’s.

“Do you suppose I will stay here with you one hour, if you treat me like this?”

That brought another laugh.  But Miss Blake was evidently trying to make light of her outbreak.  “Scared you, didn’t I?” she said.  “I guess you never got much training, eh!”

“I am not a dog,” said Sheila shortly.

“Well, if you aren’t”—­Miss Blake returned to her chair and took up a magazine.  She put the spectacles on her nose with shaking hands.  “You’re my girl, aren’t you?  You can’t expect to get nothing but petting from me, Sheila.”

If she had not been icy with rage, Sheila might have smiled at this.  “I don’t know what you mean, Miss Blake, by my being your girl.  I work for you, to be sure.  I know that.  But I know, too, that you will have to apologize to me for this.”

Miss Blake swung one leg across the other and stared above her glasses.

“Apologize to you!”

“Yes.  I will allow nobody to touch me.”

“Shucks!  Go tell that to the marines!  You’ve never been touched, have you?  Sweet sixteen!”

Hudson’s kiss again scorched Sheila’s mouth and her whole body burned.  Miss Blake watched that fire consume her, and again she laughed.

“I’m waiting for you to apologize,” said Sheila again, this time between small set teeth.

“Well, my girl, wait.  That’ll cool you off.”

Sheila stood and felt the violent beating of her heart.  A log in the wall snapped from the bitter frost.

“Miss Blake,” she said presently, a pitiful young quaver in her voice, “if you don’t beg my pardon I’ll go to-morrow.”