Other words were said, but they scarce reached her ear; then came
the familiar evening stir of preparation for the night, the father's
departure on a last visit to the stable and his swift return, face
red with the cold, slamming the door hastily in a swirl of frosty
vapour.

"Come, Maria." The mother called her very gently, and laid a hand
upon her shoulder. She rose and went to kneel and pray with the
others. Voice answered to voice for ten minutes, murmuring the
sacred words in low monotone.

The usual prayer at an end, the mother whispered:--" Yet five
Paters and five Aves for the souls of those who have suffered
misfortune in the forest." And the voices again rose, this time more
subdued, breaking sometimes to a sob.

When they were silent, and all had risen after the last sign of the
cross, Maria went back to the window. The frost upon the panes made
of them so many fretted squares through which the eye could not
penetrate, shutting away the outside world; but Maria saw them not,
for the tears welled to her eyes and blinded her. She stood there
motionless, with arms hanging piteously by her side, a stricken
figure of grief; then a sudden anguish yet keener and more
unbearable seized upon her; blindly she opened the door and went out
upon the step.

The world that lay beyond the threshold, sunk in moveless white
repose, was of an immense serenity; but when Maria passed from the
sheltering walls the cold smote her like the hungry blade of a sword
and the forest leaped toward her in menace, its inscrutable face