“Yes—­yes—­my house is yonder.”

“I know; it’s far; it’s beyond the square.  You must come with me.”

“But your house is still farther!”

She had started him now, with a firm grasp of his arm, walking beside him in the deep snow, and trying to keep him in the narrow path.

“No—­I am staying here with Hubert Plimon’s two babies, while the mother has gone to Provo where Hubert lies sick.  See—­the light there.  Come with me—­here’s the gate—­you shall be warmed.”

Slowly and with many stumblings, leaning upon her strong arm, he made his way to the cabin door.  She pushed it open before him and he felt the great warm breath of the room rush out upon him.  Then he was inside, swaying again uncertainly upon his feet.  In the hovering light that came from the fireplace he saw the bed in the far corner where the two small children were sleeping, saw Mara with her back to the door, facing him breathlessly, saw the heavy shadows all about; but he was conscious of hardly more than the vast heavenly warmth that rolled out from the fire and enfolded him and made him drunk.

Again he would have fallen, but she steadied him down on to a wide couch covered with buffalo robes, beside the big fireplace; and here he fell at once into a stupor.  She drew out the couch so that it caught more of the heat, pulled off the water-soaked boots and the stiffened coat, wrapped him in a blanket which she warmed before the fire, and covered him still again with one of the buffalo robes.

She went then to bring food and to make a hot drink, which she strengthened with brandy poured from a little silver flask.

Presently she aroused him to drink the hot liquor, and then, after another blank of stupor, she aroused him again, to eat.  He could take but little of the food, but called for more of the drink, and felt the soul of it thrill along his frozen nerves until they awoke, sharpened, alert, and eager.  He lay so, with closed eyes a little time, floating in an ecstasy that seemed to be half stupor and half of keenest sensibility.  Then he opened his eyes.  She was kneeling by the couch on which he lay.  He felt her soft, quick breathing, and noted the unnatural shining of her eyes and lips where the firelight fell upon them.  All at once he threw out his arms and drew her to him with such a shuddering rush of power that she cried aloud in quick alarm—­but the cry was smothered under his kisses.

For ages the transport seemed to endure, the little world of his senses whirling madly through an illimitable space of sensuous light, his lips melting upon hers, his neck bending in the circle of pulsing warmth that her soft arms wove about it, his own arms crushing to his breast with frenzied fervour the whole yielding splendour of her womanhood.  A moment so, then he fell back upon the couch, all his body quivering under the ecstasy from her parted lips, his triumphant senses rioting insolently through the gray, cold garden of his vows.