She did not consult the Morins; perhaps she knew that she would only provoke their opposition, or perhaps she knew that they would only be too glad to get rid of the man they feared, caring for nothing but the actual safety of the lives in the household.  She brought him his coat and cap and also a man’s moccasins and snow-shoes.  With a courage that, because somewhat shy and trembling, evoked all the more his admiration, she untied the first knot of his rope, unwound the coil, and then untied the last knot.  The process was slow because of the trembling of her fingers, which he felt but could not see.  She stood resolute, making him dress for the storm upon the threshold of the door.  He did not know how to strap on the snow-shoes.  She watched his first attempt with great curiosity; looking up, he was made the more determined to succeed with them by seeing the pain of incredulity returning to her eyes.

’How do you expect me to know how to manage things that I have never handled in my life before?’

‘But if you don’t know how to put them on how can you walk in them?’

’I have seen men walk in them, and there are a great many things we can do when something depends upon it.’

She directed him how to cross and tie the straps; she continued to watch him, increasing anxiety betraying itself in her face.

The snow was so light that even the snow-shoes sank some four or five inches.  It was just below the porch that he had tied his straps, and when he first moved forward he trod with one shoe on the top of the other.  He had not expected this; he felt that no further progress was within the bounds of possibility.  For some half minute he stood, his back to the door, his face turned to the illimitable region of drifts and feathery air, unable to conceive how to go forward and without a thought of turning back.  When his pulses were surging and tingling with the discomfort of her gaze, he heard the door shut sharply.  Perhaps she thought that he was shamming and was determined not to yield again; perhaps—­and this seemed even worse—­she had been overcome in the midst of her stern responsibility by the powers of laughter; perhaps, horrid thought, she had gone for Morin to bid him again throw the noose over his treacherous shoulders.  The last thought pricked him into motion.  By means of his reason he discovered that if he was to make progress at all the rackets must not overlap one another as he trod; his next effort was naturally to walk with his feet so wide apart that the rackets at their broadest could not interfere.  The result was that in a few moments he became like a miniature Colossus of Rhodes, fixed again so that he could not move, his feet upon platforms at either side of a harbour of snow.

He heard the door open now again sharply, and he felt certain, yes, certain, that the lasso was on its way through the air; this time he was not going to submit.  As men do unthinkingly what they could in no way do by thought, he found himself facing the door, his snow-shoes truly inextricably mixed with one another, but still he had turned round.  There was no rope, no Morin; Madge was standing alone upon the outer step of the porch, her face aflame with indignation.