He was troubled by the thought of what she must have borne for it was
difficult to imagine Sylvia engaged in laborious domestic toil. It had
never occurred to him that her delicate appearance was deceptive.

"Dick," she went on, "was out at work all day; there was nobody to talk
to--our nearest neighbor lived some miles off. I think now that Dick
was hardly strong enough for his task. He got restless and moody after
he lost his first crop by frost. During that long, cruel winter we
were both unhappy: I never think without a shudder of the bitter nights
we spent sitting beside the stove, silent and anxious about the future.
But we persevered; the next harvest was good, and we were brighter when
winter set in. I shall always be glad of that in view of what came
after." She paused, and added in a lower voice:

"You heard, of course?"

"Very little; I was away. It was a heavy blow."

"I couldn't write much," explained Sylvia. "Even now, I can hardly
talk of it--but you were a dear friend of Dick's. We had to burn wood;
the nearest bluff where it could be cut was several miles away; and
Dick didn't keep a hired man through the winter. It was often very
cold, and I got frightened when he drove off if there was any wind. It
was trying to wait in the quiet house, wondering if he could stand the
exposure. Then one day something kept him so that he couldn't start
for the bluff until noon; and near dusk the wind got up and the snow
began to fall. It got thicker, and I could not sit still. I went out
now and then and called, and was driven back, almost frozen, by the
storm. I could scarcely see the lights a few yards away; the house