A FEW days afterward they were sitting before the fire in silence. It had become habitual with the young woman to study every look and movement of her host; to anticipate him in the discharge of the household duties; to provide for him every little comfort that the meagre resources of the hut afforded; and to observe with a strange pleasure the steady breaking down of his will and courage. She realized that his recent attack, though so quickly overcome, was a warning of his approaching complete collapse; and she believed that only when that should happen could she hope with sympathy and careful nursing to save him. She welcomed the moroseness that was stealing over him, his growing failure to study her every want, and his occasional lapses into a petulant bearing toward her. It gratified her to see him gradually loosen the iron mask that he had worn so long. Most significant of all his symptoms were hallucinations that began to visit him. At times he would start up in violent alarm and whisper, “Did you hear the howling of the wolves?” At others he would start in alarm to resist an imaginary attack upon the rear door. A touch of her hand, a gentle, firm word, would instantly calm him, and then he would look foolish and ashamed.

On this day, as they sat before the fire, matters took a new and strange turn. He suddenly said,—

“Listen!”

She was so deeply absorbed in watching him and so expectant of erratic conduct from him that she gave no thought to the possibility of danger from an external source. For dreary months she had waited in this small prison, and no longer gave heed to any tumult without. The young man had been lounging in hopeless langour, but now he sat upright, every nerve, muscle, and faculty under extraordinary tension.

“It is coming!” he cried. “I have been expecting it every day. Come—quick, for God’s sake!”

Saying that, he seized her by the arm, and with furious eagerness and surprising strength dragged her to the rear door, giving her little time to seize her crutch. He unlocked the door and threw it open, but before he could open the door at the further end of the passage she heard a heavy roar and felt the great mountain tremble. Wholly ignorant of the meaning of it all, but seeing that her host was moved by an intelligent purpose, and feeling profound confidence and comfort in the protection that he was throwing about her, she placed herself completely under his guidance.

The rear door was opened, and they entered a dark, cold chamber. With every moment the roaring increased and the trembling of the mountain was augmented. Then came a tremendous, stupefying crash, and the cataclysm gradually died away in silence, leaving an impenetrable, oppressive blackness.

The two prisoners stood in breathless silence, held tightly in each other’s arms. The young woman asked no questions; her sense of security and comfort in this man’s arms filled the whole want of her hour. She felt vaguely that something more dreadful than all their past misfortunes had befallen them; but that feeling brought no chill to the strong warm blood that swept rhythmically through her heart. She was at peace with her fate. If this was death, it was death for them both, it was death with him.

Her keen sympathy made her intensely attentive to every sign that he gave; and thus it was that she accepted, without surprise or dismay, the realization that he was not rallying, and that, on the contrary, he was sinking under the nameless blow that had fallen upon them. It was not anxiety for that, but for him, that now gave her every conscious quality a redoubled alertness. His grasp upon her tightened, and by this she knew that he felt the need of her, and was clinging to her. He trembled in every member, and swayed as he stood. With little effort she bore him to the ground, where, kneeling beside him and holding his hands, she softly spoke,—

“My friend, we are together; and so long as each is the stay of the other, we shall have strength and courage for all things. Now tell me what I may do for you.” She knew by the pressure of his hand upon hers that her words had found good ground. She gently pressed her advantage. “Tell me what I may do for you. You are weak. You know how strong and healthy and willing I am; then, imagine how much pleasure it would give me to help you! You need a stimulant. Is there one in the cabin? Tell me where it is, and I will bring it.”

“You are kind,” he said, tremulously.

“But do you know what has happened?” As he asked this question he rose to a sitting posture, she assisting him.

“No,” she calmly answered; “but no matter what has happened, we are together, and thus we have strength and courage for it.”

“Ah,” he said, hopelessly, “but this is the end! An avalanche has buried us and the cabin is destroyed!”

Terrible as was this declaration, it had no weakening effect upon his companion.

“Is that all?” she cheerily asked. “But avalanches melt away, and we have each other. And if it come to the very worst, we shall still have each other. Besides each other, we have life, and with life there is always hope, there is always the duty to hope. If we abandon hope, life itself is abandoned.”

This worked like good wine in his veins; but she knew by the way in which he still clung to her, seemingly fearful that she would leave him for a moment, that a dreadful unknown thing sat upon him. She waited patiently for him to disclose it. She knew that the shock of the catastrophe had wholly cleared his mind, and that the old terrors which he had concealed from her were working upon him with renewed activity. Still he kept silence.

“Do you know,” she presently said, “that I am glad the avalanche has come? I understand now the dread of some terrible happening that has been haunting you. Well, it has come, and we are still alive; and better than that, we have each other. Think how much more dreadful it might have been! Suppose that it had come while you were outside, and swept you away. Suppose that it had crushed us in the cabin. But here we are, safe and sound, and happy each in the presence of the other.... And I am thinking of something else. The snow stopped falling long ago. Lately we have had warm winds and some rain. This must mean, my friend, that the worst is over. And doesn’t it mean that the rain has softened the snow and loosened it to make this avalanche?”

A sudden strength, a surprised gladness, were in the pressure that he now gave her hand.

“It is true, it is true!” he softly exclaimed.

“Then,” she continued, “the winter has dealt its last blow, and our liberation is at hand; for the rains that caused the avalanche will melt the snow that it has piled upon us, and also the snow that has closed the roads. It seems to me that the best of all possible things has happened.”

“I hadn’t thought of that!” he exclaimed, with a childish eagerness that made her heart glow.

“Besides,” she continued, “how do you know that the cabin is destroyed? Let us go and see.”

Her gentle strength and courage, the seeming soundness of her reasoning, and her determination not to take a gloomy view of their state, roused him without making him aware of his weakness. Her suggestion that the cabin possibly had not been destroyed was a spur to his dulled and stunned perception.

“That is true,” he cheerfully said; “let us go and see.”

Still clinging closely to each other, they groped in the darkness for the door.

“You have matches, haven’t you?” she inquired.

“Yes,” he answered, in confusion; “but we can find the door without a light.”

That was not so easy. For the first time, now that the terrors of the moment had passed, the young woman was nursing a happiness that she had not known during all the dreary weeks of their imprisonment,—except once, in his illness, when it had been of so short duration.

Feeling thus content, she suddenly reflected that she was at last in the forbidden apartment, where she believed some fearful mystery was kept concealed from her. Their voices had been long smothered in the cramped hut. The contrast that she now found was startling; yet her thoughts might not have reverted to the fact that she was at last in the presence of the mystery had not Wilder’s embarrassed refusal to make a light rekindled her interest. The first thing in that direction that she noticed was the singular resonance of their voices, as though they were in a place of a size just short of the echoing power. More than that, it was cold, though not nearly so cold as the outer air; and she heard the musical tinkle of dripping and running water.

Wilder had evidently lost all idea of direction. In clinging to his companion as he groped, he took great care to guard her against stumbling and collision. His free hand (the other arm was about her waist) was extended. With great difficulty, increased by his eagerness, he finally found his bearings and advanced to the door. Slowly and cautiously they pushed on through the passage, and then, to their great relief, into the hut itself. This they found intact, but smoky and entirely dark,—the avalanche had smothered the chimney and shut out the light from the window. With matches they discovered that the window had not been broken and that the outer wall of the house held none of the pressure of the snow. In his peculiar fashion, however, Wilder began to foresee troubles.

“The pressure of the mass above,” he said, “will compress the snow below, and thus give our window, and perhaps the outer wall of the cabin itself, a pressure that they can’t bear. The hut is buried. We can have no more fires. The worst of all is that, having no air, we must suffocate in time.”

“Is all that necessary, my friend?” his companion asked. “We can at least try to clear away the snow and thus remove all those difficulties; and there is a chance—and a good one, don’t you think?—for the snow to melt quickly. Besides all that, we have not yet tried to dig out through the snow.”

“True, true, every word of it!” he cried, delightedly. “What a clear, strong mind you have!”

This was the first compliment that he had ever paid her, and its obvious sincerity gave it a precious value.

It was she that now led the attack upon their prison of snow. What infinite satisfaction and pride it gave her to know that at last she was the guiding spirit of the hut; with what firm but gentle tact she overcame, one by one, his objections to her worrying or working; how she watched his every movement, hung upon his every word, relieved him as much as possible of the stress that burdened him, and ministered to his comfort in all ways; with what blithe songs in her heart and cheery words on her lips she lightened the toil of that dreadful time, need only be mentioned here. But it was she that led, that inspired, that achieved, and he knew it. This was the blessed light that shone for her through it all.

A search revealed loose and easily removed snow at one end of the hut, against the face of the cliff. His work in the lead, digging and tunnelling, hers in the rear, removing the snow and keeping courage in his heart, brought them presently to the outer air. Then, for the first time, they beheld the glorious sunshine, and like children they shouted in glee to see it. Both walls of the canon were still heavily covered with snow, but numerous small slides had broken it, and the rain had softened and ploughed it. Evidently it was rapidly melting.

Another scene held them as they stood hand in hand looking down into the canon. The great avalanche that had overwhelmed them had been arrested in the bottom of the canon, and had made a large lake by damming the river. Rapidly the lake grew in size and backed up the canon. Soon at any moment the growing mass of water must break through its dam, and that would be a spectacle to behold.

They could not wait for that. With incredible labor—he no longer protesting against her full share in the work, and she heedless of her lameness and of its serious hindrance to her efforts—they together, hand in hand, clambered over the snow until they stood above the hut, and cheerily began to dig it free,—a task seemingly so far beyond their powers that something wonderful must have sustained them in assailing it. Thus they were working in the afternoon sunshine, for the first time boon companions, and as happy and light-hearted as children, when an exclamation from Wilder drew her attention to the dam. It was giving way under the pressure of water. Instantly she recognized a danger that he had overlooked.

“Back to the cliff!” she cried, seizing his hand and dragging him away, “or we’ll go down with the snow.”

They reached their tunnel and the cabin in good time; but soon afterward the dam broke, and the swirling, thundering mass of water bore it down the canon. This removed the support of the snow backed up between the river and the top of the cliff, and it went plunging down into the water, leaving the top of the hut exposed, and solving the problem of the prison of snow.