Without him she
could not move from the tree where he had left her unless her
naked feet buried themselves in the snow. If something happened to
him--she would die. Her helplessness filled him suddenly with a
wild exultation, the joy of absolute possession that leapt for an
instant or two above his fears. She was something more--now--than
the woman he loved. She was a little child, to be carried in his
arms, to be sheltered from the wind and the cold until the last
drop of blood had ceased to flow in his veins. His was the mighty
privilege now to mother her until the end came for them both--or
some miracle saved them. The last barrier was gone from between
them. That he had met her only yesterday was an unimportant
incident now. The world had changed, life had changed, a long time
had passed. She belonged to him as utterly as the stars belonged
to the skies. In his arms she would find life--or death.
He was braced for the fight. His mind, riding over its first
fears, began to shape itself for action even as he turned back
toward the edge of the forest.
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