Dead!  Was that it—­struck to the earth like the caribou that fell before his rifle?  And in that weird, dark instant a light far more bright than that the flickering pine knots cast so dim and strange over the scene beamed forth from the altar flame of her own soul.  It was only the light of knowledge, not of hope, but it transfigured her none the less.

All at once she knew why she had hurled the poisoned cup from his hand, even though her father’s life might be the price of her weakness.  She understood, now, why these long weeks had been a delight rather than a torment; why her fears for him had gone so straight to her heart.  She pressed his battered head tight against her breast.

“My love, my love,” she crooned in his ear, pressing her warm cheek close to his.  “I do love you, I do, I do,” she told him confidingly, as if this message would call him back to life.  Her lips sought his, trying to give them warmth, and her voice was low and broken when she spoke again.  “Can’t you hear me, Ben—­won’t you try to come back to me?  If you’re dead I’ll die too—­”

But the man did not open his eyes.  Would not even this appeal arouse him from this deep, strange sleep in which he lay?  He had always been so watchful of her—­since that first day—­so zealous for her safety.  She held him closer, her lips trembling against his.

But she must get herself in hand again!  Perhaps life had not yet completely flickered out; and she could nurse it back.  She dropped her ear to his breast, listening.

Yes, she felt the faint stirring of his heart.  It was so feeble, the throbs were so far apart, yet they meant life,—­life that might flush his cheeks again, and might yet bring him back to her, into her arms.  He was breathing, too; breaths so faint that she hardly dared to believe in their reality.  And presently she realized that his one hope of life lay in getting back to the fire.

For long hours he had been lying in the cold rain; a few more minutes would likely extinguish the spark of life that remained in his breast.  Her hand stole over his powerful frame, in an effort to get some idea of the nature of his wounds.

One of his arms was broken; its position indicated that.  Some of his ribs were crushed too—­what internal injuries he had that might end him before the morning she did not know.  But she could not take time to build a sledge and cut away the brush.  She worked her shoulder under his body.

Wrenching with all her fine, young strength she lifted him upon her shoulder; then, kneeling in the vines, she struggled for breath.  Then thrusting with her arm she got on her feet.

His weight was over fifty pounds greater than her own; but her woods training, the hard work she had always done, had fitted her for just such a test as this.  She started with her burden toward the cave.

She had long known how to carry an injured man, suspending him over her shoulder, head pointed behind her, her arms clasping his thigh.  With her free arm she seized the tree branches to sustain her.  She had no light now; she was guided only by the faint glow of the fire at the cavern mouth.