A FEW days afterward they were sitting before the fire in silence.
It had become habitual with the young woman to study every look
and movement of her host; to anticipate him in the discharge of the
household duties; to provide for him every little comfort that the
meagre resources of the hut afforded; and to observe with a strange
pleasure the steady breaking down of his will and courage. She realized
that his recent attack, though so quickly overcome, was a warning of
his approaching complete collapse; and she believed that only when that
should happen could she hope with sympathy and careful nursing to save
him. She welcomed the moroseness that was stealing over him, his growing
failure to study her every want, and his occasional lapses into a
petulant bearing toward her. It gratified her to see him gradually
loosen the iron mask that he had worn so long. Most significant of all
his symptoms were hallucinations that began to visit him. At times he
would start up in violent alarm and whisper, “Did you hear the howling
of the wolves?” At others he would start in alarm to resist an imaginary
attack upon the rear door. A touch of her hand, a gentle, firm word,
would instantly calm him, and then he would look foolish and ashamed.
On this day, as they sat before the fire, matters took a new and strange
turn. He suddenly said,--
“Listen!”
She was so deeply absorbed in watching him and so expectant of erratic
conduct from him that she gave no thought to the possibility of danger
from an external source. For dreary months she had waited in this small
prison, and no longer gave heed to any tumult without. The young man had
been lounging in hopeless langour, but now he sat upright, every nerve,
muscle, and faculty under extraordinary tension.
“It is coming!” he cried. “I have been expecting it every day.
Come--quick, for God’s sake!”
Saying that, he seized her by the arm, and with furious eagerness and
surprising strength dragged her to the rear door, giving her little time
to seize her crutch. He unlocked the door and threw it open, but before
he could open the door at the further end of the passage she heard a
heavy roar and felt the great mountain tremble. Wholly ignorant of the
meaning of it all, but seeing that her host was moved by an intelligent
purpose, and feeling profound confidence and comfort in the protection
that he was throwing about her, she placed herself completely under his
guidance.
The rear door was opened, and they entered a dark, cold chamber. With
every moment the roaring increased and the trembling of the mountain was
augmented. Then came a tremendous, stupefying crash, and the cataclysm
gradually died away in silence, leaving an impenetrable, oppressive
blackness.
The two prisoners stood in breathless silence, held tightly in each
other’s arms. The young woman asked no questions; her sense of security
and comfort in this man’s arms filled the whole want of her hour.
She felt vaguely that something more dreadful than all their past
misfortunes had befallen them; but that feeling brought no chill to the
strong warm blood that swept rhythmically through her heart. She was at
peace with her fate. If this was death, it was death for them both, it
was death with him.
Her keen sympathy made her intensely attentive to every sign that he
gave; and thus it was that she accepted, without surprise or dismay, the
realization that he was not rallying, and that, on the contrary, he was
sinking under the nameless blow that had fallen upon them. It was not
anxiety for that, but for him, that now gave her every conscious quality
a redoubled alertness. His grasp upon her tightened, and by this she
knew that he felt the need of her, and was clinging to her. He trembled
in every member, and swayed as he stood. With little effort she bore
him to the ground, where, kneeling beside him and holding his hands, she
softly spoke,--
“My friend, we are together; and so long as each is the stay of the
other, we shall have strength and courage for all things. Now tell me
what I may do for you.” She knew by the pressure of his hand upon hers
that her words had found good ground. She gently pressed her advantage.
“Tell me what I may do for you. You are weak. You know how strong and
healthy and willing I am; then, imagine how much pleasure it would give
me to help you! You need a stimulant. Is there one in the cabin? Tell me
where it is, and I will bring it.”
“You are kind,” he said, tremulously.
“But do you know what has happened?” As he asked this question he rose
to a sitting posture, she assisting him.
“No,” she calmly answered; “but no matter what has happened, we are
together, and thus we have strength and courage for it.”
“Ah,” he said, hopelessly, “but this is the end! An avalanche has buried
us and the cabin is destroyed!”
Terrible as was this declaration, it had no weakening effect upon his
companion.
“Is that all?” she cheerily asked. “But avalanches melt away, and we
have each other. And if it come to the very worst, we shall still have
each other. Besides each other, we have life, and with life there is
always hope, there is always the duty to hope. If we abandon hope, life
itself is abandoned.”
This worked like good wine in his veins; but she knew by the way in
which he still clung to her, seemingly fearful that she would leave him
for a moment, that a dreadful unknown thing sat upon him. She waited
patiently for him to disclose it. She knew that the shock of the
catastrophe had wholly cleared his mind, and that the old terrors which
he had concealed from her were working upon him with renewed activity.
Still he kept silence.
“Do you know,” she presently said, “that I am glad the avalanche has
come? I understand now the dread of some terrible happening that has
been haunting you. Well, it has come, and we are still alive; and better
than that, we have each other. Think how much more dreadful it might
have been! Suppose that it had come while you were outside, and swept
you away. Suppose that it had crushed us in the cabin. But here we are,
safe and sound, and happy each in the presence of the other.... And I am
thinking of something else. The snow stopped falling long ago. Lately we
have had warm winds and some rain. This must mean, my friend, that the
worst is over. And doesn’t it mean that the rain has softened the snow
and loosened it to make this avalanche?”
A sudden strength, a surprised gladness, were in the pressure that he
now gave her hand.
“It is true, it is true!” he softly exclaimed.
“Then,” she continued, “the winter has dealt its last blow, and our
liberation is at hand; for the rains that caused the avalanche will melt
the snow that it has piled upon us, and also the snow that has closed
the roads. It seems to me that the best of all possible things has
happened.”
“I hadn’t thought of that!” he exclaimed, with a childish eagerness that
made her heart glow.
“Besides,” she continued, “how do you know that the cabin is destroyed?
Let us go and see.”
Her gentle strength and courage, the seeming soundness of her reasoning,
and her determination not to take a gloomy view of their state, roused
him without making him aware of his weakness. Her suggestion that the
cabin possibly had not been destroyed was a spur to his dulled and
stunned perception.
“That is true,” he cheerfully said; “let us go and see.”
Still clinging closely to each other, they groped in the darkness for
the door.
“You have matches, haven’t you?” she inquired.
“Yes,” he answered, in confusion; “but we can find the door without a
light.”
That was not so easy. For the first time, now that the terrors of the
moment had passed, the young woman was nursing a happiness that she had
not known during all the dreary weeks of their imprisonment,--except
once, in his illness, when it had been of so short duration.
Feeling thus content, she suddenly reflected that she was at last in the
forbidden apartment, where she believed some fearful mystery was kept
concealed from her. Their voices had been long smothered in the cramped
hut. The contrast that she now found was startling; yet her thoughts
might not have reverted to the fact that she was at last in the presence
of the mystery had not Wilder’s embarrassed refusal to make a light
rekindled her interest. The first thing in that direction that she
noticed was the singular resonance of their voices, as though they were
in a place of a size just short of the echoing power. More than that, it
was cold, though not nearly so cold as the outer air; and she heard the
musical tinkle of dripping and running water.
Wilder had evidently lost all idea of direction. In clinging to
his companion as he groped, he took great care to guard her against
stumbling and collision. His free hand (the other arm was about her
waist) was extended. With great difficulty, increased by his eagerness,
he finally found his bearings and advanced to the door. Slowly and
cautiously they pushed on through the passage, and then, to their great
relief, into the hut itself. This they found intact, but smoky and
entirely dark,--the avalanche had smothered the chimney and shut out the
light from the window. With matches they discovered that the window had
not been broken and that the outer wall of the house held none of the
pressure of the snow. In his peculiar fashion, however, Wilder began to
foresee troubles.
“The pressure of the mass above,” he said, “will compress the snow
below, and thus give our window, and perhaps the outer wall of the cabin
itself, a pressure that they can’t bear. The hut is buried. We can
have no more fires. The worst of all is that, having no air, we must
suffocate in time.”
“Is all that necessary, my friend?” his companion asked. “We can at
least try to clear away the snow and thus remove all those difficulties;
and there is a chance--and a good one, don’t you think?--for the snow to
melt quickly. Besides all that, we have not yet tried to dig out through
the snow.”
“True, true, every word of it!” he cried, delightedly. “What a clear,
strong mind you have!”
This was the first compliment that he had ever paid her, and its obvious
sincerity gave it a precious value.
It was she that now led the attack upon their prison of snow. What
infinite satisfaction and pride it gave her to know that at last she
was the guiding spirit of the hut; with what firm but gentle tact she
overcame, one by one, his objections to her worrying or working; how she
watched his every movement, hung upon his every word, relieved him as
much as possible of the stress that burdened him, and ministered to
his comfort in all ways; with what blithe songs in her heart and cheery
words on her lips she lightened the toil of that dreadful time, need
only be mentioned here. But it was she that led, that inspired, that
achieved, and he knew it. This was the blessed light that shone for her
through it all.
A search revealed loose and easily removed snow at one end of the
hut, against the face of the cliff. His work in the lead, digging and
tunnelling, hers in the rear, removing the snow and keeping courage in
his heart, brought them presently to the outer air. Then, for the first
time, they beheld the glorious sunshine, and like children they shouted
in glee to see it. Both walls of the canon were still heavily covered
with snow, but numerous small slides had broken it, and the rain had
softened and ploughed it. Evidently it was rapidly melting.
Another scene held them as they stood hand in hand looking down into the
canon. The great avalanche that had overwhelmed them had been arrested
in the bottom of the canon, and had made a large lake by damming the
river. Rapidly the lake grew in size and backed up the canon. Soon at
any moment the growing mass of water must break through its dam, and
that would be a spectacle to behold.
They could not wait for that. With incredible labor--he no longer
protesting against her full share in the work, and she heedless of her
lameness and of its serious hindrance to her efforts--they together,
hand in hand, clambered over the snow until they stood above the hut,
and cheerily began to dig it free,--a task seemingly so far beyond their
powers that something wonderful must have sustained them in assailing
it. Thus they were working in the afternoon sunshine, for the first time
boon companions, and as happy and light-hearted as children, when an
exclamation from Wilder drew her attention to the dam. It was giving way
under the pressure of water. Instantly she recognized a danger that he
had overlooked.
“Back to the cliff!” she cried, seizing his hand and dragging him away,
“or we’ll go down with the snow.”
They reached their tunnel and the cabin in good time; but soon afterward
the dam broke, and the swirling, thundering mass of water bore it down
the canon. This removed the support of the snow backed up between the
river and the top of the cliff, and it went plunging down into the
water, leaving the top of the hut exposed, and solving the problem of
the prison of snow.