'Very well,' replied Waring.

At midnight they were off, rowing over the black water in the
sail-boat, hoping for a fair wind at dawn, as the boat was heavy. They
journeyed but slowly through the winding channel, leaving the
sedge-gate open; no danger now from intruders; the great giant,
Winter, had swallowed all lesser foes. It was cold, very cold, and
they stopped awhile at dawn on the edge of the marsh, the last shore,
to make a fire and heat some food before setting sail for the islands.

'Good God!' cried Waring.

A boat was coming after them, a little skiff they both knew, and in it
paddling, in her white dress, sat Silver, her fur mantle at her feet
where it had fallen unnoticed. They sprang to meet her knee-deep in
the icy water; but Waring was first, and lifted her slight form in his
seems.

'I have found you, Jarvis,' she murmured, laying her head down upon
his shoulder; then the eyes closed, and the hand she had tried to
clasp around his neck fell lifeless. Close to the fire, wrapped in
furs, Waring held her in his arms, while the old man bent over her,
chafing her hands and little icy feet, and calling her name in an
agony.

'Let her but come back to life, and I will say not one word, more,' he
cried with tears. 'Who am I that I should torture her? You shall go
back with us, and I will trust it all to God,--all to God.'

'But what if I will not go back, what if I will not accept your trust?