"
Maud Barrington watched him closely, but his tone carried conviction,
and again she was glad that he attempted no explanation. "I am quite
willing to take it," she said. "Still, you can understand--"
"Yes," said Winston. "It puts a strain upon your faith, but some day I
may be able to make a good deal that puzzles you quite clear."
Maud Barrington glanced at the flask. "I wonder if that is connected
with the explanation, but I will wait. Now, you have not lighted your
cigar."
Winston understood that the topic was dismissed, and sat thoughtfully
still while the girl nestled against the birch logs close beside him
under the same furs, for the wind went through the building and the
cold was unbearable a few feet from the stove. The birch rafters shook
above their heads, and every now and then it seemed that a roaring gust
would lift the roof from them. Still the stove glowed and snapped, and
close in about it there was a drowsy heat, while presently the girl's
eyes grew heavy. Finally, for there are few who can resist the desire
for sleep in the cold of the Northwest, her head sank back, and
Winston, rising very slowly, held his breath as he piled the furs about
her. That done, he stooped and looked down upon her while the blood
crept to his face. Maud Barrington lay very still, the long dark
lashes resting on her cold tinted cheek, and the patrician serenity of
her face was even more marked in her sleep. Then he turned away
feeling like one who had committed a desecration, knowing that he had
looked too long already upon the sleeping girl who believed he had been
an outcast and yet had taken his word, for it was borne in upon him
that a time would come when he would try her faith even more severely.
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