The Clayton girls said good-bye with pity in their voices, and Rivers sought opportunity to say, privately: "I hate to see you back out there on the border. If you need anything, let me know." "All aboard!" called Bailey, as he took his reins in hand. A bitter blast and a gray sky confronted them as they drove out of the town, and not even Bailey's abounding vitality and good-humor could keep Blanche from sinking back into gloomy silence. The wind was keen, strong, prophetic of the snows which were already gathering far in the north, and the journey seemed endless; and when late in the afternoon they drew up before the squat, low hovel in which she was to spend a long and desolate winter, Blanche was shivering violently, and so depressed that she could not coherently thank the kindly young fellow who had afforded her this brief respite from her care. She staggered into the house, so stiff she could scarcely walk, and sank into a chair to sob out her loneliness and despair, while Willard pottered about building a fire on their icy hearth. Willard Burke had a question to ask, and that night, as they were sitting at their poor little table, he plucked up courage to begin: "Blanche, I want to ask you something--that is, I've been kind o' noticin' you--" Here he paused, intending to be sly and suggestive. "Seems to me this climate ain't so bad, after all; you complain a good deal, but seems to me you hadn't ought to." He trembled while he smiled. "It's done a lot for you." "What do you mean?" she asked, her face flushing with confusion. "I mean"--he tried to laugh--"your best dress seems pretty tight for you. Oh, if it only should be--" "Don't be a fool," she angrily replied. "If anything like that happens, I'll let you know." His face lengthened, and the smile went out of his eyes. He accepted her tone as final, too loyal to doubt her word. "Don't be mad; I was only in hopes." He rose after a silence and went out with downcast head. She sat rigidly, feeling as if the blood were freezing in her hands and feet. The crisis was upon her. The time of her judgment was coming--and she was alone! She burned with anger against Rivers. Why had he waited and waited? "_He_ can put things off--he is a man, but I am the woman--I must suffer it all." The pain, the shame, the deadly danger--all were hers. Burke returned, noisily, stamping his feet like a boy. "It's snowin' like all git out," he said, "and I've got to rig up some kind of a sled. I reckon winter has come in earnest now, and our coal-pile is low." He went to sleep with the readiness of a child, and as she lay listening to his quiet breath she remembered how easy it had once been for her to sleep. She had the same agony of pity for him that she would have felt for a child she had wronged malevolently. The next day Mrs. Bussy came over. At her rap Blanche called, "Come in," but remained seated by the fire. The old woman entered, knocking the snow off her feet like a man.