He pushed it back and entered, closing it, even as he did so, with a backward fling of the heel.

Then, in the tiny living-room, by the light of the lamp that shone in the window, he laid his burden down.
White and cold, she lay with closed eyes upon the little sofa, motionless and beautiful as a statue recumbent upon a tomb, her drenched draperies clinging about her.

He stood for a second looking upon her; then, still with the absolute steadiness of set purpose, he turned and went into the inner room.
He came back with a blanket, and stooping, he lifted the limp form and, with a certain deftness that seemed a part of his immovable resolution, he wrapped it in the rough grey folds.
It was while he was doing this that a sudden sigh came from between the parted lips, and the closed eyes flashed open.
They gazed upon him in bewilderment, but he continued his ministrations with grim persistence and an almost bovine expression of countenance.
Only when two hands came quivering out of the enveloping blanket and pushed him desperately away did he desist.

He straightened himself then and turned away.
"You'll be--all right," he said in his deep voice.
Then Columbine started up on her elbow, clutching wildly at the blanket, drawing it close about her.

The cold stillness of her was gone, as though a sudden flame had scorched her.