The accordion and the bones were put aside that day, and Homer was
forgotten. When the body of Mother Shipton had been committed to the
snow, Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside, and showed him a pair of
snowshoes, which he had fashioned from the old pack saddle. "There's one
chance in a hundred to save her yet," he said, pointing to Piney; "but
it's there," he added, pointing toward Poker Flat. "If you can reach
there in two days she's safe." "And you?" asked Tom Simson. "I'll stay
here," was the curt reply.

The lovers parted with a long embrace. "You are not going, too?" said
the Duchess as she saw Mr. Oakhurst apparently waiting to accompany him.
"As far as the canyon," he replied. He turned suddenly, and kissed the
Duchess, leaving her pallid face aflame and her trembling limbs rigid
with amazement.

Night came, but not Mr. Oakhurst. It brought the storm again and the
whirling snow. Then the Duchess, feeding the fire, found that someone
had quietly piled beside the hut enough fuel to last a few days longer.
The tears rose to her eyes, but she hid them from Piney.

The women slept but little. In the morning, looking into each other's
faces, they read their fate. Neither spoke; but Piney, accepting the
position of the stronger, drew near and placed her arm around the
Duchess's waist. They kept this attitude for the rest of the day. That
night the storm reached its greatest fury, and, rending asunder the
protecting pines, invaded the very hut.

Toward morning they found themselves unable to feed the fire, which
gradually died away. As the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess crept
closer to Piney, and broke the silence of many hours: "Piney, can you