In these moments a desire that was almost madness swept over him. Since
his fight with Jean the swift passing of events had confined his
thoughts to their one objective--the finding of Meleese and her people.
He had assured himself that his every move was to be a cool and
calculating one, that nothing--not even his great love--should urge him
beyond that reason which had made him a master-builder among men. As he
stood with the snow falling heavily on him he knew that his trail would
be covered before another day--that for an indefinite period he might
safely wait and watch for Meleese on the mountain top. And yet, slowly,
he made his way down the side of the ridge. A little way out there in
the gloom, barely beyond the call of his voice, was the girl for whom he
was willing to sacrifice all that he had ever achieved in life. With
each step the desire in him grew--the impulse to bring himself nearer to
her, to steal across the plain, to approach in the silent smother of the
storm until he could look on the light which Jean Croisset had told him
would gleam from her window.
He descended to the foot of the ridge and headed into the plain, taking
the caution to bury his feet deep in the snow that he might have a trail
to guide him back to the cabin.
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