heard thy cry and has come to care for thee, Annadoah."

His voice was a caress. His face sank dangerously near the face of the
girl. She panted into full consciousness and struggled to free
herself. Ootah helped her to her feet.

"The winter comes . . . and famine," muttered Annadoah, hopelessly.
She pointed to the gaunt, hollow-eyed shadow, empurpled-robed, against
the frozen cliffs. "My heart is cold--I am resigned to death."

"But I have come to give furs for thy couch," murmured Ootah, a
beseeching look in his eyes. "Thou wilt need shelter--I shall build
thee an igloo. Thou wilt need food--I shall share all that I have with
thee and seek more. Thou wilt need oil for heat. I shall get this for
thee."

Annadoah made a passionate gesture. A curious perverse resentment for
the youth's insistent devotion rose in her heart.

"Nay," she said, warding him away. "My shadow yearns only to the south
. . . the far, far south."

"Thy soul yearns to the south--forsooth, will I all the more cherish
thee. Thou art frail, and the teeth of _ookiah_ (winter) are sharp."

"The teeth of _ookiah_ are not so sharp as the teeth in my heart,"
sobbed Annadoah.

Ootah felt a great pity for her--a pity and tenderness greater than his
jealousy.