hungry as wolves. Good-by."

"May the blessing of Him who came to seek and save the lost go with you!"
said the aged father, tremulously.

A moment later they dashed away, followed by Burt's hound and the
watch-dog, and the darkness and storm hid them from sight.

Oh, the heavy cross of watching and waiting! Many claim that woman is not
the equal of man because she must watch and wait in so many of the dread
emergencies of life, forgetting that it is infinitely easier to act, to
face the wildest storm that sweeps the sky or the deadliest hail crashing
from cannons' mouths, than to sit down in sickening suspense waiting for
the blow to fall. The man's duty requires chiefly the courage which he
shares with the greater part of the brute creation, and only as he adds
woman's patience, fortitude, and endurance does he become heroic. Nothing
but his faith in God and his life-long habit of submission to his will
kept Mr. Clifford from chafing like a caged lion in his enforced
inaction. Mrs. Clifford, her mother's heart yearning after her youngest
and darling boy with an infinite tenderness, alone was calm.

Amy's young heart was oppressed by an unspeakable dread. It was partly
due to the fear and foreboding of a child to whom the mountains were a
Siberia-like wilderness in their awful obscurity, and still more the
result of knowledge of the sorrow that death involves. The bare possibility
that the light-hearted, ever-active Burt, who sometimes perplexed her with
more than fraternal devotion, was lying white and still beneath the
drifting snow, or even wandering helplessly in the blinding gale, was so
terrible that it blanched her cheek, and made her lips tremble when she
tried to speak. She felt that she had been a little brusque to him at