CHAPTER III.

"One woman reads another's character, without the tedious trouble of
deciphering."--JONSON.


Zoe's sleep that night was profound and refreshing, and she woke in
perfect health and vigor of body and mind; but the first sound that
smote upon her ear--the dashing of sleet against the window-pane--sent
a pang of disappointment and dismay to her heart.

She sprang from her bed, and, running to the window, drew aside the
curtain, and looked out.

"O Ned!" she groaned, "the ground is covered with sleet and snow,--about
a foot deep, I should think,--and just hear how the wind shrieks and
howls round the house!"

"Well, love," he answered in a cheery tone, "we are well sheltered, and
supplied with all needful things for comfort and enjoyment."

"And one that will destroy every bit of my enjoyment in any or all the
others," she sighed; "but," eagerly and half hopefully, "do you think it
is quite certain to be too bad for her to go?"

"Quite, I am afraid. If she should offer to go," he added mischievously,
"we will not be more urgent against it than politeness demands, and, if
she persists, will not refuse the use of the close carriage as far as
the depot."