It seemed to her that she could not bear the future. Her love for Joe rose and overwhelmed her. She became self-conscious before him, paled when he spoke to her, and when he was away her longing for him was insupportable. She wanted him now--all her life cried out for him--all the woman in her went out to mate with this man. The same passion that had drawn her from the country to his side now swayed and mastered her. "Joe! Joe!" her soul cried, "take me now! This is too much for me to bear!" And more and more the thought of his health oppressed her. If she only had the power to take him to her breast, draw him close in her arms, mother him, heal him, smooth the wrinkles, kiss the droop of the big lips, and pour her warm and infinite love into his heart. That surely must save him--love surely would save this man. She began to scheme and dream--to plot ways of getting about him, of routing him out, of tearing him from his rut. And then one afternoon at two she risked her all. It was an opportune time. Joe--wonder of wonders--was doing nothing, but sitting back like a gray wreck, with his feet crossed on his desk, and a vile cigar in his mouth. It was the first cigar in ages, and he puffed on it and brooded dreamily. Myra came over, sat down beside him, and spoke airily. "Hello, Joe!" "Why, hello, Myra!" he cried. "What d'ye mean by helloing me?" "I'm glad to meet you." "Same to you." "I've come back from the country, Joe." "So I see." "Do you?" "Haven't I eyes?" "Well," she said, flushed, bending forward, "Joe Blaine, where have your eyes been these five weeks?" "They were on strike!" he said, promptly. "Well," she said, "the strike's over!" They laughed together as they had not since far and far in the beginning of things. Joe leaned near. "Myra," he said, "I need an airing. Take me out and shake me out! Oh!" he stretched his arms above his head. "Have I been hibernating and is it springtime again?" Myra hesitated. "Joe." "Yes, ma'am!" "I want you to take me somewhere." "I will." "To--the printery--I want to see it again." "Go 'long wid you! Marty Briggs and me are bad friends, see?" She reveled in this new gaiety of his. "Joe, you're waking up. _Please_ take me!" "Put on your hat, your coat, and your little black gloves, young woman. Me for the printery!" They went out together, glad as young children. The world was sheathed in a hard ice-coated snow; icicles dangled from every sill and cornice; the skies were melting blue, and the sun flashed along every surface. It was a world of flashing fire, of iridescent sunbursts. Through the clean, tingling air they walked, arm in arm, the stir of a new life in their hearts. "Joe," said Myra, "I want you to signalize your resurrection by a great sacrifice to the gods." "I'm ready. Expound!" "I want you to buy a new hat." He took off his hat and examined it. "What's the matter with this?" "It's like yourself, Joe--worn out!"