"We are not going there," he said, and if he added anything, it was lost in the scream of a returning gust.
Again Maud Barrington's reason reasserted itself, and remembering the man's history she became sensible of a curious dismay, but it also passed and left her with the vague realization that he and she were actuated alike only by the desire to escape extinction.

Presently she became sensible that the sleigh had stopped beside a formless mound of white and the man was shaking her.
"Hold those furs about you while I lift you down," he said.
She did his bidding, and did not shrink when she felt his arms about her, while next moment she was standing knee-deep in the snow and the man shouting something she did not catch.

Team and sleigh seemed to vanish, and she saw her companion dimly for a moment before he was lost in the sliding whiteness, too.

Then a horrible fear came upon her.
It seemed a very long while before he reappeared, and thrust her in through what seemed to be a door.

Then there was another waiting before the light of a lamp blinked out, and she saw that she was standing in a little log-walled room with bare floor and a few trusses of straw in a comer.