In this moment he did not think of himself, but of the girl he held in his arms, and he strained her closer and kissed her lips and her eyes and her tumbled hair there in the storm-swept darkness, telling her what he knew was now a lie--that she was safe, that nothing could harm her.

Against him he felt the tremble and throb of her soft body, and it was this that filled him with the horror of the thing--the terror of the thought that her one garment was a bearskin.

He had felt, a moment before, the chill touch of a naked little foot.
And yet he kept saying, with his face against hers: "It's all right, little sweetheart.

We'll come out all right--we sure will!".