throbbing with vital life, glowing with warmth and color. In outer
semblance nothing was changed, no more than was the appearance of the
world outside, and yet beneath the surface of the lives in the cabin, as
beneath the surface of the earth without, all the mighty forces of
Nature were bent to one end.

Without, the spring thaws which were to melt down the mountain of snow
in the ravine below were no longer presaged, but at hand. The rain fell
for hours each day, but the dull and weeping skies, the heavy air,
oppressed Seagreave's spirits and made him now sad and listless, but for
the most part curiously restless.

Strive as he would, he could not escape nor ignore it, this atmosphere
of the exotic which filled his cabin, the atmosphere of Pearl's beauty
and magnetism and of her love for him. He did not recognize it as that.
He only felt it as some strange, disturbing element which, while it
troubled his thought, yet claimed it. His growing love for her filled
him with a sort of terror. It seemed to him a mounting tide which would
sweep him, he knew not whither, and with all the strength of his nature
he struggled to hold to the resolution he had made the first day they
were alone in the cabin, not to press his love upon her until she had
left the shelter of his roof and was back again with her father.

One evening the two sat in the cabin together, as usual, Seagreave on
one side of the fire reading--that is, his eyes were upon the book and
he seemed apparently absorbed in its contents--but in reality his entire
thought was focused upon Pearl, who sat opposite him in a low chair, her
hands clasped idly in her lap, and he struggled desperately to maintain
his attitude of friendly comradeship when he addressed her.