It was Carlia.




CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.


Dorian stood knee-deep in the snow and watched the girl run back into
the house. In his surprise, he forgot his immediate errand. He had found
Carlia, found her well and strong; but why had she run from him with a
cry of alarm? She surely had recognized him; she would not have acted
thus toward a stranger. Apparently, she was not glad to see him. He
stood looking at the closed door, and a feeling of resentment came
to him. Here he had been searching for her all this time, only to be
treated as if he were an unwelcome intruder. Well, he would not force
himself on her. If she did not want to see him, why annoy her? He could
go back, tell her father where she was, and let him come for her. He
stood, hesitating.

The door opened again and a woman looked out inquiringly at the young
man standing in the snow with an axe on his shoulder. Dorian would have
to offer a word of explanation to the woman, at least, so he stepped
into the path toward the house.

"Good morning," he said, lifting his hat. "I'm out to get a Christmas
tree for the children over there, and it seems I have startled the young
lady who just ran in."