She stooped over the bed, the candle-light falling on the small, white
face. White--how white! With all its delicate fairness, had it ever
looked like this before? With a sudden fear clutching at her heart she
held the little flame lower....
She groped her way half-blindly down the stairs, the candle left behind.
As she reached the foot a stamping sounded upon the porch outside the
living-room door. She ran toward it,--never had sound of human approach
been so madly welcome. Before she could reach the door a knock fell upon
it.
She wrenched at the latch, finding the door frozen into place, as it had
been all through this weather. She tugged in vain for a moment, then a
voice called from the other side:
"Look out! I'm going to push!"
With a catch in her throat, her heart pounding even more wildly than it
had done before, she stood aside. What voice was that? It couldn't be
possible, of course, but it had sounded like one she knew in its every
inflection, one which did not belong to any of her nearby friends. It
could not be possible--it could not--but--
The door crashed open, and a mound of snow fell in with it. Striding in
over the snow came a tall figure in an enveloping great coat, covered
with white from head to foot, the face ruddy and smiling.
CHAPTER XVII
FROM THE BEGINNING
John Leaver turned and tried to close the door, but the mound of snow
prevented.
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