Winston, answering nothing, swung an ax round his head, and the girl kneeling beside the stove noticed the sinewy suppleness of his frame and the precision with which the heavy blade cleft the billets.  The ax, she knew, is by no means an easy tool to handle.  At last the red flame crackled, and, though she had not intended the question to be malicious, there was a faint trace of irony in her voice as she asked, “Is there any other thing you wish me to do?”

Winston flung two bundles of straw down beside the stove, and stood looking at her gravely.  “Yes,” he said.  “I want you to sit down and let me wrap this sleigh robe about you.”

The girl submitted, and did not shrink visibly from his touch, when he drew the fur robe about her shoulders and packed the end of it round her feet.  Still, there was a faint warmth in her face, and she was grateful for his unconcernedness.

“Fate or fortune has placed me in charge of you until to-morrow, and if the position is distasteful to you, it is not my fault,” he said.  “Still, I feel the responsibility, and it would be a little less difficult if you would accept the fact tacitly.”

Maud Barrington would not have shivered if she could have avoided it, but the cold was too great for her, and she did not know whether she was vexed or pleased at the gleam of compassion in the man’s gray eyes.  It was more eloquent than anything of the kind she had ever seen, but it had gone, and he was only quietly deferent, when she glanced at him again.

“I will endeavor to be good,” she said, and then flushed with annoyance at the adjective.  Half-dazed by the cold as she was, she could not think of a more suitable one.  Winston, however, retained his gravity.

“Now, Macdonald gave you no supper, and he has dinner at noon,” he said.  “I brought some eatables along, and you must make the best meal you can.”

He opened a packet, and laid it with a little silver flask upon her knee.

“I cannot eat all this—­and it is raw spirit,” said Maud Barrington.

Winston laughed.  “Are you not forgetting your promise?  Still, we will melt a little snow into the cup.”

An icy gust swept in when he opened the door, and it was only by a strenuous effort he closed it again, while when he came back panting with the top of the flask a little color crept into Maud Barrington’s face.  “I am sorry,” she said.  “That at least is your due.”

“I really don’t want my due,” said Winston, with a deprecatory gesture, as he laid the silver cup upon the stove.  “Can’t we forget we are not exactly friends, just for to-night?  If so, you will drink this and commence at once on the provisions—­to please me.”

Maud Barrington was glad of the reviving draught, for she was very cold, but presently she held out the packet.

“One really cannot eat many crackers at once, will you help me?”

Winston laughed as he took one of the biscuits.  “If I had expected any one would share my meal, I would have provided a better one.  Still, I have been glad to feast upon more unappetizing things occasionally.”