came upon her.

"What is the matter with you, Paulina?" he cried. "What is your
business here?"

A swift change came over her.

"I am no dog of yours," she said, her sullen face flaming with passion.

"What do you mean?" cried Rosenblatt. "Get into your house, cat!"

"Yes! cat!" cried the woman, rushing at him with fingers extended.

One swift swoop she made at his face, bringing skin and hair on her
nails. Rosenblatt turned, and crying, "She is mad! She is mad!"
made for the shelter of the cellar, followed by the shouts and
jeers of the men standing about.

Raging, at the door Paulina sought entrance, crying, "I was a good
woman. He made me bad." Then turning away, she walked slowly to the
back of her house and passed behind the neighbouring shack where
the man stood waiting her.

With dragging steps she approached, till within touch of him, when,
falling down upon her knees in the snow, she put her head upon his feet.

"Get up, fool," he cried harshly.

She rose and stood with her chin upon her breast.