CHAPTER VIII
BELIEF
The girl tossed up her arms in a silent ecstasy, and Pierre caught the small cold hands and saw that she was only a child of twelve or fourteen, lovely as only a child can be, and still more beautiful with the wild storm sweeping over her and the waste of snow around them.
He crouched lower still, and when he did so the strength of the wind against his face decreased wonderfully, for the sharp angle of the hill's declivity protected them. Seeing him kneel there, helpless with wonder, she cried out with a little wail: "Help me—the tree—help me!" And, bursting into a passion of sobbing, she tugged her hands from his and covered her face.
Pierre placed his shoulder under the trunk and lifted till the muscles of his back snapped and cracked. He could not budge the weight; he could not even send a tremor through the mass of wood; He dropped back beside her with a groan. He felt her eyes upon him; she had ceased her sobs, and looked steadily, gravely, into his face.
It would have been easy for him to meet that look on the morning of this day, but after that night's
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