extricate herself, and her feet would slip provokingly off the
snow-shoes. And all the time the storm increased in fury, reminding
her of that other storm when she was at the little lake. But it had a
different meaning to her now. As it tore through the branches overhead
it sounded like the voice of destruction rather than grand martial
music. The swaying and creaking trees seemed like an army of monsters
about to fall upon her. The helplessness of her situation overwhelmed
her. What could she do against the fury of the elements? Why had she
ventured forth alone and unaided? It was foolish to think that she
could reach the mast-cutters. But then she knew that the forces of
nature were more merciful than those wretched slashers she had left
behind. Better to fall in the midst of the great forest, and let the
snow enshroud her body, than to allow brutes in the forms of men to lay
their vile hands upon her. But she would win. She must not give up.
She would go on.

Step by step she slowly pushed her way through the forest and the
night. She longed for morning, for the blessed light of day to dispel
the gloomy shades around her. But it was a long time coming, and she
was so weary. Often now she paused to rest, each time longer than the
last. At length she felt that she could go no farther. She could not
find the trail from which she had wandered, and the snow was deep. She
floundered about for a few minutes, and then with a cry of despair she
looked wildly around. What was she to do? She knew that she was lost,
yes, lost in the mighty woods where no aid could reach her. She
thought of the mast-cutters. She must reach them, and warn them of
their danger. What would her father and Dane think if she failed in
her duty? But would they ever know of the efforts she had made? Would
her body ever be found? No, no, it must not be. She would not give
up. She must not die there. The mast-cutters must be warned.