Outside, the storm still raged, and it was the
shivering shriek of it over the cabin that Falkner first heard. He felt
terribly dizzy, and there was a sharp, knife-like pain just back of his
eyes. By the gray light that came through the one window he knew that
what was left of Arctic day had come. He rose to his feet, and staggered
about like a drunken man as he rebuilt the fire, and he tried to laugh as
the truth dawned upon him that he had been sick, and that he had rested
for hours with his head on the table. His back seemed broken. His legs
were numb, and hurt when he stepped on them. He swung his arms a little
to bring back circulation, and rubbed his hands over the fire that began
to crackle in the stove.
It was the sickness that had overcome him--he knew that. But the thought
of it did not appall him as it had yesterday, and the day before. There
seemed to be something in the cabin now that comforted and soothed him,
something that took away a part of the loneliness that was driving him
mad. Even as he searched about him, peering into the dark corners and at
the bare walls, a word formed on his lips, and he half smiled. It was a
woman's name--Hester. And a warmth entered into him. The pain left his
head. For the first time in weeks he felt DIFFERENT. And slowly he began
to realize what had wrought the change. He was not alone. A message had
come to him from the one who was waiting for him miles away; something
that lived, and breathed, and was as lonely as himself.
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