As Sarah came in and took a rocker across the table, he lifted his head from his papers, glanced at her impatiently, and then plunged back into his scrutiny. And his behavior also made him suffer. For he craved to regain warmth for his wife; in hurting her he hurt himself with concomitant misgivings. He struggled hard against the new, indomitable habit of his heart, to couple Sarah with Quincy, and him with all the misery and sorrow that his coming had seemed to unleash upon them. But it was in vain. He could not battle against his growing nausea for all that was nearest to him. His mind might dilate with keenness upon the tribulations of Sarah, upon her strong humility, upon the puerile unfairness of his attitude. He could not mend that part of him which ruled him. He could not reach it, with all his reason. Always, this part within him flung him back upon the loss of his two favorite children, upon the accident to Marsden, upon the link between these misfortunes and his wife. And with his heart so turned, he could not divorce the association,--could not but regard Sarah with insuperable reproach. Sarah was darning stockings. And when Josiah broke the silence her hands knocked nervously together. For she had been inured to his silence as the more bearable of evils. She gulped. Then she mastered her curious fright, set aside her work and looked up. “Sarah,” her husband began, “I’ve found a way of gettin’ rid of the Wyoming land. And though it’s robbery and a loss, I’m goin’ to take it.” “But Josiah--” “The Shinone Land Company of Billings, Montana, offers me two thousand dollars. The fact that they offer me anything at all makes me suspicious. But even a dollar of tax--well, I can’t feel I have a right to. So there’s an end of _that_ fond story.” He threw the letter over into her lap. Sarah took it. But she did not read it. She was dwelling on his tone and on the breaking that it seemed to cover. She knew for what this land was symbol, in Josiah’s mind. She had no hope of it. But she feared to have its going added to the long list of other things now gone. As a property, it might be a worthless drain. As an idea, it still meant much to him. Her spirit faltered at the thought of this last mark of his enthusiastic youth erased by the present. Turning to look at him, Sarah was seconded in her conviction. Josiah was resting his head in his two hands, elbows upon the table. And his gaze went past her--far beyond. It seemed to be following the swift passage of a hope. This investment had not been the dearest portion of his hopes. Josiah was no materialist. Simply, it was the last. And now it was going--vanishing--to join the other ghosts. Sarah rose and came to his side. She placed her hands on his two shoulders. “Josiah,” she said. The man gazed on. “Josiah!” “Well?” It was not easy to talk to a man’s shoulders, particularly since she loved his face. But Sarah mustered courage.