Now the blood seemed to surge through her veins in new volume, and she labored feverishly to release the other hand.

At last she undid a knot with her teeth, and slipped the blanket from her, beating her hands together to restore circulation.
Her right leg still was too numb to stand upon, but she crept forward, dragging it helplessly behind her over the snow, to where Hamlin lay.
The girl's heart seemed to stop beating as she looked at him--at the white, colorless face, the closed eyes, the discoloration of blood staining the temple.

Yet he lived; his faint breath was plainly perceptible in the frosty air.
"O God!" she sobbed, "what can I do!" It was an unrestrained cry of anguish, yet there was no hesitation in action.

She had forgotten everything except that helpless figure lying before her on the snow--her own danger, the surrounding desolation, the dead forms accentuating that wilderness tragedy.

With bare hands she bathed his face in snow, rubbing the flesh until it flushed red, pressing her own warm body against his, her lips speaking his name again and again, almost hysterically, as though she hoped thus to call him back to consciousness.