warm and thrilling. Looking down, he could see the profile of the
woman's face.

A long, shining tress of her hair had freed itself from under her
hood, and the light wind lifted it so that it fell across his arm.
Like a thief he raised it to his lips, while the woman looked straight
ahead to where the timber-line began to show in a thin, black streak.
His cheeks burned, half with shame, half with tumultuous joy. Then he
straightened his shoulders and shook the floating tress from his arm.

Three-quarters of an hour later they came to the first of the timber.
He still held her hand. He was still holding it, with the brilliant
starlight falling upon them, when his chin shot suddenly into the air
again, alert and fighting, and he cried, softly:

"What was that?"

"Nothing," said the woman. "I heard nothing-- unless it was the wind
in the trees."

She drew away from him. The dogs whined and slunk close to the box.
Across the Barren came a low, wailing wind.

"The storm is coming back," said MacVeigh. "It must have been the wind
that I heard."

III

IN HONOR OF THE LIVING