but he heeded it not. He had no fears for its safety; it presented
its low gable to the full fury of the wind that year by year had
piled, and even now was piling, protecting buttresses of sand
against it. With each succeeding gust it seemed to nestle more
closely to its foundations, in the whirl of flying sand that
rattled against its roof and windows. It was nearly midnight when
a sudden thought brought him to his feet. What if SHE were exposed
to the fury of such a night as this? What could he do to help her?
Perhaps even now, as he sat there idle, she--Hark! was not that a
gun--No? Yes, surely!

He hurriedly unbolted the door, but the strength of the wind and
the impact of drifted sand resisted his efforts. With a new and
feverish strength possessing him he forced it open wide enough to
permit his egress when the wind caught him as a feather, rolled him
over and over, and then, grappling him again, held him down hard
and fast against the drift. Unharmed, but unable to move, he lay
there, hearing the multitudinous roar of the storm, but unable to
distinguish one familiar sound in the savage medley. At last he
managed to crawl flat on his face to the cabin, and refastening the
door, threw himself upon his bed.

He was awakened from a fitful dream of his Cousin Maria. She with
a supernatural strength seemed to be holding the door against some
unseen, unknown power that moaned and strove without, and threw
itself in despairing force against the cabin. He could see the
lithe undulations of her form as she alternately yielded to its
power, and again drew the door against it, coiling herself around
the log-hewn doorpost with a hideous, snake-like suggestion. And
then a struggle and a heavy blow, which shook the very foundations