She sobbed herself asleep, her last wish that she might never waken. She had eaten nothing since the morning, and then only a hasty scrap that had no taste in it. The fire had gone out.... It did not matter. She would go out herself as soon as might be.... A woful end to all their golden hopes and happiness. Morning found her still lying spent and hopeless on her bed, comatose, neither asleep nor awake, simply careless of life and even of the fact that the wind had fallen at midnight and that the new day had broken soft and clear. Then, in her dream-weariness, she heard a voice in the outer room--or thought she did--but all her senses were dulled except the sense of loss and heartache. People, she knew, heard voices when they were going to die. "Avice!"--the voice of God calling her--the sweet voice of death. She was ready to go. "Avice! Where are you?"--and a tapping on the wall of her room. How like Wulfrey's voice! Perhaps he was permitted to be the messenger,--a gracious thought--a joyful thought. She rose painfully, stiff with weakness and long lying, stumbled to the doorway, stood leaning her hands against the sides, and peered, white-faced and awe-stricken, through the curtains into the room. Then, with a broken cry, she threw up her hands and fell forward into Wulf's arms. When she came to herself she was lying on a blanket outside the house and he was bathing her forehead and kissing her. She lay looking up at him in wonder, out of eyes almost lost in the mists and darkness of her suffering. She raised a hand and touched his face. "Are you real? Are you alive?" she whispered doubtfully. He proved it with hot kisses. His eyes swam with pity for her sufferings. Her face and eyes told him all the story. "By God's mercy we are both alive, dear. It might have been otherwise.... You have suffered sorely." "I thought you were sent for me ... the angel of Death. And it was so good of them to send you and not a stranger.... But it is better to have you alive," and happy tears welled weakly out of her eyes and rolled down the white cheeks. "I believe you have eaten nothing since I went. Lie still and I will get you something," and he jumped up and went inside, lighted the fire quickly, and presently was sitting by her side, feeding her with warm rum and water, for she was icy cold, and some bits of the cakes she had made three days before. "You ought not to have starved yourself like that," he remonstrated. "I was sure you were dead and I had no wish to live.... You will never go out there again...." "Not in the break of a storm anyway. We must go to the storehouse sometimes, but we'll make sure of our weather in future." "I wouldn't have minded if I'd been with you."