and brought back life. In the dawning Waring was himself again; weak,
helpless, but in his right mind. He said as much, and added, with a
touch of his old humor, 'There is a wrong mind you know, old
gentleman.'

The other made no reply; his task done; he sat by the fire waiting. He
had gone after this fellow, driven by fate; he had saved him, driven
by fate. Now what had fate next in store? He warmed his wrinkled hands
mechanically and waited, while the thought came to him with bitterness
that his darling's life lay at the mercy of this man who had nothing
better to do, on coming back from the very jaws of death, than make
jests. But old Fog was mistaken; the man had something better to do,
and did it. Perhaps he noted the expression of the face before him;
perhaps he did not, but was thinking, young man fashion, only of
himself; at any rate this is what he said: 'I was a fool to go. Help
me back, old man; it is too strong for me,--I give it up.'

'Back,--back where?' said the other, apathetically.

Waring raised his head from his pillow of furs. 'Why do you ask when
you know already! Back to Silver, of course; have you lost your mind?'

His harshness came from within; in reality it was meant for himself;
the avowal had cost him something as it passed his lips in the form of
words; it had not seemed so when in the suffering, and the cold, and
the approach of death, he had seen his own soul face to face and
realized the truth.

So the two went back to the castle, the saved lying on the sledge, the
savior drawing it; the wind was behind them now, and blew them along.