the sleigh-bells. With swift, silent tread, she rushed to a side door and
threw it open. Yes, clear and distinct she now heard them on the mountain
road. With a low cry she returned and wakened Maggie, then flew to the
old people, and, with a voice that she tried in vain to steady, said,
"They are coming."

Mr. Clifford started up, and was about to rush from the room, but paused
a moment irresolutely, then returned, sat down by his wife, and put his
arm around her. He was true to his first love. The invalid had grown
faint and white, but his touch and presence were the cordials she needed.

Amy fled back to the side door, and the sled soon appeared. There was no
light at this entrance, and she was unobserved. She saw them begin to
lift some one out, and she dashed through an intervening drift nearly to
her waist. Webb felt a hand close on his arm with a grip that he long
remembered.

"Burt?" she cried, in a tone of agonizing inquiry.

"Heigh-ho, Amy," said the much-muffled figure that they were taking from
the sled; "I'm all right."

In strong reaction, the girl would have fallen, had not Webb supported
her. He felt that she trembled and clung almost helplessly to him.

"Why, Amy," he said, gently, "you will take your death out here in the
cold and snow"; and leaving the others to care for Burt, he lifted her in
his arms and carried her in.

"Thank God, he's safe," she murmured. "Oh, we have waited so long! There,