Sometimes she stayed in unpleasant quarters, where she had perhaps to climb a ladder, and share the loft above the lean-to kitchen with two of the small children of the family. Often the cracks would be so wide that the snow would blow in, drift across her bed, and even blow into her face. Then as she dropped off to sleep, lulled by the roar of the wind outside, she would wish that the snow might come softly and cover her out of sight, that she might sleep forever. At other times, the thought of Charles brought a great longing to see him, and to hear his voice whisper, "My darling," once more, as he had that night when they stood for one blissful moment together in their room, before Betty called them. Then Dawn would go over all the happenings of the evening: the scene at the supper table, and every syllable that Madam Winthrop had uttered, up to the awful moment when the mother had hurled her accusations, and the truth had burst upon the young bride’s heart in all its nakedness: that she was married out of generosity! Bitterness toward this woman was changing slowly into understanding. How was the mother to blame for what she had said? It was all true, except that she, Dawn, had not known it, and was therefore not to blame. Then she began to wonder how it was that she could have been so deceived. She could not blame her mother-in-law for doubting her word, for would not she also doubt that a girl could be married to a man and think he was some other? Whose fault had it been? Not Charles’s, for he had fully vindicated himself. She would sooner doubt herself than him. Could her father have known about it? Could he have wished her to be married to one whom she did not know, without even telling her? It was believable that he might have thought it of little importance to her, if he, her father, willed it so; yet while often treating her as if she were a chattel, without will of her own, he had ever been perfectly frank with her. She felt that he would have informed her of the change of bridegrooms, and not merely carried out his wishes without announcing it to her. She could scarcely believe he could think it would not matter to her. But after careful thought she was inclined to lay the deception at her stepmother’s door, and she was not long in fathoming the true reason for it. Mrs. Van Rensselaer knew her unhappy state of mind, and probably feared that Dawn would rebel against being married. To have her remain at home was the worst possible thing that could happen to her step-mother, Dawn knew, for from childhood she had been hated by the woman who had taken her outraged mother’s place. It was all quite plain—all but one thing: how had Harrington Winthrop been turned aside from his purpose of marrying her? Had he done it of himself, or had her father found out something about him that he did not like, or had Charles managed it for her? And where was Harrington?