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Each day the snow-line crept farther down the bleak, rock-shouldered peaks, and gale followed gale, with sleet and slush and snow, and in the eddies and quiet places young ice formed and thickened through the fleeting hours. And each morn, toil-stiffened men turned wan faces across the lake to see if the freeze-up had come.
It was a picture that appealed to Adrian's artistic sense and he lingered a little, regarding its "effects," even considering what pigments would best convey them. "Adrian!" "Yes, Angelique. Yes." When the door shut behind him Angelique touched her darling's shining head, and the toil-stiffened fingers had for it almost a mother's tenderness. "Sweetheart, the bedtime." "I know. I'm going.
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