“Ye pit it fair,” he rejoined.  “And ye do it weel.  It doesna behoove me to complain, sic a michty fine job ye’re makin’ on it.”

“You are doing well,” Corliss chuckled, as Tommy dropped out of sight and landed into the bed of the gorge.  “The cantankerous brute! he’d argue on the trail to Judgment.”

“Where did you learn to paddle?” she asked.

“College—­exercise,” he answered, shortly.  “But isn’t that fine?  Look!”

The melting ice had formed a pool in the bottom of the gorge.  Frona stretched out full length, and dipped her hot mouth in its coolness.  And lying as she did, the soles of her dilapidated moccasins, or rather the soles of her feet (for moccasins and stockings had gone in shreds), were turned upward.  They were very white, and from contact with the ice were bruised and cut.  Here and there the blood oozed out, and from one of the toes it streamed steadily.

“So wee, and pretty, and salt-like,” Tommy gibed.  “One wouldna think they could lead a strong man to hell.”

“By the way you grumble, they’re leading you fast enough,” Corliss answered angrily.

“Forty mile an hour,” Tommy retorted, as he walked away, gloating over having the last word.

“One moment.  You’ve two shirts.  Lend me one.”

The Scotsman’s face lighted inquisitively, till he comprehended.  Then he shook his head and started on again.

Frona scrambled to her feet.  “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.  Sit down.”

“But what is the matter?”

Corliss put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her back.  “Your feet.  You can’t go on in such shape.  They’re in ribbons.  See!” He brushed the sole of one of them and held up a blood-dripping palm.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, they didn’t bother—­much.”

“Give me one of your skirts,” he demanded.

“I . . .”  She faltered.  “I only have one.”

He looked about him.  Tommy had disappeared among the ice-floes.

“We must be getting on,” Frona said, attempting to rise.

But he held her back.  “Not another step till I fix you.  Here goes, so shut your eyes.”

She obeyed, and when she opened them he was naked to the waist, and his undershirt, torn in strips, was being bound about her feet.

“You were in the rear, and I did not know—­”

“Don’t apologize, pray,” she interrupted.  “I could have spoken.”

“I’m not; I’m reproaching you.  Now, the other one.  Put it up!”

The nearness to her bred a madness, and he touched his lips lightly to the same white little toe that had won the Baron Courbertin a kiss.

Though she did not draw back, her face flushed, and she thrilled as she had thrilled once before in her life.  “You take advantage of your own goodness,” she rebuked him.

“Then I will doubly advantage myself.”

“Please don’t,” she begged.