they were nearer their destination--that she began to doubt her own
powers. Presently she moved forward again in silence.

He began to be alarmed lest they should never reach his house, yet took
comfort in the thought, as he looked at her, that whatever strength she
had, she would use to the end. No hysterical despair would exhaust her
beforehand. She would not fail through lack of determination. Whether or
not she were the confederate of a thief she was a brave woman, yes, and
a beautiful one, he thought, looking down upon her in the glare of the
snow.

Presently he held out his hand in silence, and she as silently took it.
This was to Geoffrey the explanation of his whole life. This was what
men were made for.

Once as they stood resting the wind, which fortunately had been at their
backs the entire trip, hurled her against him, where she remained an
instant, too weak to move. It was he who set her gently on her feet
again.

The latter part of the journey she made almost wholly by his help, and
when they stood before the piazza, she could not have managed the little
step had he not virtually lifted her up. He took her directly to the
library and laid her on the sofa. The fire, owing to the absence of
McVay, had gone out. It took Geoffrey some time with his benumbed hands
to build a blaze. When he turned toward her again she was sleeping like
a child.

The sight was too much for his own weariness, and reflecting that McVay
was either gone or still safe, he stretched himself on the hearth-rug