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To the cabin Kent groped his way, and knocked, and it was Marette who opened the door for hi he ca until his hands alruity of it, the , and he grinned through the trickles of wet that ran down his face, and tried to see Marette had taken off her turban and rain-coat, and she, too, stooped low in the four-feet space of the cabin--but not so ridiculously low as Kent He dropped on his knees again And then he saw that in the tiny stove a fire was burning The crackle of it rose above the beat of the rain on the roof, and the air was alreadywith the waring to her face, her feet and ar, and she was s at hilad it had found refuge He had thought that the terror of the night would show in her face, but it was gone She was not thinking of the thunder and the lightning, the black trail, or of Kedsty lying dead in his bungalow She was thinking of hi, this black night with the storreat river under theh enough to stand in and scarcely big enough in any direction to turn round in The snug cheer of it, the war to reach their chilled bodies, and the inspiring crackle of the birch in the little stove filled Kent, for a space, with other thoughts than those of the world they were leaving And Marette, whose eyes and lips were slow, seeotten It was the littlethat brought theht Kent visioned it as itthrough the darkness There were occasional cabins for several , and eyes turned riverward in the storht see it He made his way to theand fastened his slicker over it

"We're off, Gray Goose," he said then, rubbing his hands "Would it seem more homelike if I smoked?"