Now we'll go in and get warm."
"What if Mr. Bailey is there?" she stammered, with stiff lips.
"No matter, you must not freeze."
He shouted, "Hello, Bailey!" There was no reply, and he leaped out.
"Come, you must go in." He took her in his arms and carried her into the
room, dim, yet gloriously warm by contrast with the outside air. "Feels
good here, doesn't it? Now, while I roll up some blankets, you warm--We
must be quick. I'll find you some overshoes."
Blanche staggered on her numb feet, which felt like clods. She was weak
with cold, and everything grew dark before her.
"Oh, Jim, I can't go on. I'll freeze. I'll die--I know I shall. My feet
are frozen solid."
He dragged a chair to the hearth of the stove, in which a coal fire lay.
His action was bold and confident.
"No, you won't. I'll have you all right in a jiffy. Trouble is, you're
not half dressed. You need woollen underclothing and a new fur cloak.
We'll make it sealskin to pay for this."
He unlaced her shoes and slipped them off, and, while she sobbed with
agony, he rolled her stockings down and took her cold, white feet in his
warm, swift hands.
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