kissed it,—again and again. "Do you think I care about that?" he asked her. "I only wish I could have done more—and what I have done does n't count. Just as in my fight with Cranston, nothing counts because I did n't win. It's just fate, Snowbird. It's no one's fault, but maybe, in this world, nothing is ever any one's fault." For in the twilight of those winter woods, in the shadow of death itself, perhaps he was catching glimmerings of eternal truths that are hidden from all but the most far-seeing eyes.
"And this is the end?" she asked him. She spoke very bravely.
"No!" His hand tightened on hers. "No, so long as an ounce of strength remains. To fight—never to give up—may God give me spirit for it till I die."
And this was no idle prayer. His eyes raised to the starry sky as he spoke.
"But, son," Lennox asked him rather quietly, "what can you do? The wolves are n't going to wait a great deal longer, and we can't go on."
"There's one thing more—one more trial to make," Dan answered. "I thought about it at first, but it was too long a chance to try if there was any other way. And I suppose you thought of it too."
