CHRISTMAS NIGHT Doris was nearly fainting with cold and misery when they stopped at last before the Mill House door.

All the previous night she had sat up listening with nerves on edge, and had finally taken her departure in the early morning without food.
When Jeff turned to help her down she looked at him helplessly, seeing him through a drifting mist that obscured all besides.

He saw her weakness at a single glance, and, mounting the step, took her in his arms.
She sank down against his shoulder.

"Oh, Jeff, I can't help it," she whispered, through lips that were stiff and blue with cold.
"All right.

I know," he said, and for the first time in many days she heard a note of kindness in his voice.
He bore her straight through to the kitchen, and laid her down upon the old oak settle, just as he had done on that day in September when first he had brought her to his home.
Granny Grimshaw, full of tender solicitude, came hastening to her, but Jeff intervened.
"Hot milk and brandy--quick!" he ordered, and fell himself to chafing the icy fingers.
When Granny Grimshaw brought the cup, he took it from her, and held it for Doris to drink; and then, when she had swallowed a little and the blood was creeping back into her face, he took off her boots and chafed her feet also.
Granny Grimshaw put some bread into the milk while this was in progress and coaxed Doris to finish it.