Ten minutes passed very slowly, lengthened to twenty more slowly still, and then it flashed upon her that there was at least something she could do, and scraping up a little of the snow that sifted in, she melted it in the can.

Then she set the flask top upon the stove, and once more listened for the man's footsteps very eagerly.
She did not hear them, but at last the door swung open, and carrying a load of birch branches Winston staggered in.

He dropped them, strove to close the door and failed, then leaned against it, gasping, with a livid face, for there are few men who can withstand the cold of a snow-laden gale at forty degrees below.
How Maud Barrington closed the door she did not know, but it was with a little imperious gesture she turned to the man.
"Shake those furs at once," she said, and drawing him towards the stove held up the steaming cup.

"Now sit there, and drink it." Winston stooped and reached out for the can, but the girl swept it off the stove.

"Oh, I know the silver was for me," she said.