It was in his heart to ask her once again to be his, to repeat the protestation of his love; he felt that he had shown he deserved to win her.  But his utter weakness, and the very enthralling delight of her soft hands on his forehead, kept him still.  He lay in a semi-delirium suffering greatly, but at heart very happy.  A new peace possessed him.  Never had Annadoah caressed him before, never had he felt the tingling thrill of her tender hands, never had her breath so perilously warmed his face.  For an hour she sat by him, perfunctorily bathing his wounds with the white men’s ointment and rubbing a yellow salve upon his face.  And while she did this, often, very often, she closed her eyes.  Sometimes her hands, as they passed over his forehead, absently wandered to the couch, sometimes they soothed the air near the suffering man.  Then she would recall herself.  Gazing upon Ootah, pity would fill her; and then—­well, then her mind would wander.  She was faint herself, tired and half-asleep.

Once, as she touched Ootah’s hand, he closed it impulsively over hers.  Her heart gave a thud.  Her eyelids quivered.  A smile appeared on her face.  Ootah pressed her hand more firmly—­he did not realize how fiercely in his fever.  His blood ran high; in a mingled delirium of pain and transport he drew her slowly toward him.  Her one hand soothed his brow, softly, very gently.  The smile on her face deepened.  She gasped with a throe of the old memories.

“Olafaksoah,” she breathed, rapturously.

Ootah felt a horrible pain grip his heart.  He opened his eyes, stark conscious.  He saw the eyes of Annadoah were closed.  On her face he observed the fond, far-away smile; he knew her heart was in the south.  And in that frightful moment his untutored mind by instinct realized why she had bandaged and soothed him so tenderly, realized, indeed, that in doing so, in his stead, her mind had conjured up the vision of Olafaksoah.  His hands were strong, she had said, they hurt her.  Ootah, with ferocity, gripped her little hand tighter.

“Olafaksoah,” she murmured again, with delight—­then, recalling herself, suddenly uttered a sharp cry of dismay as she opened her eyes.

Ootah staggered to his feet.  The utter tragedy of her devotion to the man who had deserted her, the utter hopelessness of his own deep passion blightingly, horribly forced itself upon him.

“Annadoah!  Annadoah!  Annadoah!” he wailed, his voice sobbing the beloved name.

The igloo was stifling; he felt that he was suffocating.  Everything reeling about him, he crept painfully from the igloo into the night.  He felt he must be alone.

Outside the aurora was paling with intermittent cascades of resolving lights.  Over the snows glittering rosy fingers painted running rainbow traceries.  It seemed as though the spirit revellers were pouring fiery jewels from the skies.

Ootah stood before that revealed and radiant land of the dead—­the dead who danced and were happy—­his hands clenched and upraised above him.