onto the snow, taking it full in the face. George started at this scream and shouted at the top of his voice: Salwa!.. and rushed toward the sound while the winds toyed with him and fought against him; but he could not find his way to where Salwa was, and no one could have made out any-thing in the thick of that dense fog and that snow-dust scattering through the air... So he began turning in place, taking care lest the raging winds push him away from Salwa and he lose her.

The storm began toying with this young man, stirring in his soul another storm fiercer still, of dreadful forebodings over a girl he loved: he pictured her lying on the ground with her blood flowing, or fallen into a faint — for something of the sort must have happened to her, or she would not have sent up that scream. So he pulled his skis from his feet and began dashing right and left, his nostrils clogged by this snow-dust that never ceased flying before a wild, unbridled wind, until he was like a stray bird in its blast.

George could not have reckoned the time he spent in this state... but he felt a shiver run through his body the moment he noticed that darkness had begun to creep into the heart of the valley and shroud the heights, while he had not yet succeeded in reaching the place where Salwa was... Would there be time enough to rescue her and return before the night's darkness was complete?.. He went back to his feverish attempts, but to no avail... Suddenly he felt that he was alone in this darkness engulfing him from every side — and can any human being feel himself alone between the gaping jaws of night, with the raging elements of nature loosed upon him, with no human presence to keep him company? He turned his face in every direction and found nothing but pitch darkness and the raging storm. He froze in place a moment, panting, his breath all but failing and the moisture all but drying in his mouth; then he let out a terrible cry and fled from

the night into the heart of the pitch-dark night.

Can he remember, or even know, how many times his foot stumbled and how many times he rose to resume his running? No, he cannot remember that. Yet it seems that bodily exhaustion had somewhat steadied his nerves... He stood a moment taking stock of this perilous situation, and he remembered the small bottle of cognac in his pocket; he took two swallows from it and returned it carefully to its place — it was the one hope of restoring warmth to Salwa's body the moment he found her; for he would find her, and she must be lying somewhere hereabouts.

George grasped clearly that she was in certain danger, and that upon his conduct and his composure her deliverance might depend... His rare manhood surged up within him, and his responsibility stood plain before him: to save Salwa from the claws of certain death, for she could not possibly pass the night in this valley, above all if she could not move... So he decided to retrace his steps, to go no great distance forward or back in his attempts, and to keep moving to and fro within this circle, calling out all the while in the hope of coming upon her; for he was all but certain that he was near the place from which she had sent up her cry, and that she had not been able to leave that place.

George began his attempt, and panic no longer seized hold of him as it had moments before; for a man finds within his own soul what comforts him when that soul grows strong and proves

worthy of bearing responsibilities and hard tasks. George now felt that he bore the responsibility of saving Salwa from certain death, and he gave himself wholly to carrying out this task... He paced the ground back and forth, keep-ing up his calls, until despair had almost crept into his soul once more — when suddenly he felt his foot tread on something soft, and he fancied he heard a sigh... He stood dumbfounded, unwilling to fall victim to his own delu-sions, and stepped on this thing a second time, but hard — and this time he heard a distinct moan. He threw himself upon this thing and took it in his hand, and found himself touching an icy hand. He cried out, happy and terrified: Salwa!!.. Salwa!!.. The moans came again, and with a frantic movement he snatched the bottle of cognac from his pocket, felt for Salwa's mouth, made her swal-low a few sips, shook her vio-lently, and called her name again and again until she came to and answered him. Happiness and relief flooded his soul, and he has-tened at once to ask her whether her electric flashlight was with her, for he had lost his own. She answered that it was, and began trying with great effort to draw it from the pocket of her woolen jacket; but she could not stir, so he set about searching for it himself. And as his hand groped over the folds of the woolen jacket it passed over a spot that was damp, soft to the touch, and warm; a sweet, delicious tremor ran through his body,

and with a spontaneous, innocent movement he took her head in his arms and pressed it to his

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