very different from her usual sweet imperiousness--"I've been pretty
unhappy myself, and it's made _me_ self-willed and obstinate and
dictatorial."

"You! You're--more like an angel than I ever dreamed any woman could be."

"Oh, I'm not, I'm not--please don't think so for a minute. Because, if
you do, we'll start out on a false basis, and not be real friends, the
way I hope we're going to be now--"

"Yes--"

"And, please, may I sit up now? And really, my hands are warm"--he
dropped them instantly--"and I would like to hear about the
storm--whether it has done much damage, if you know."

"It has destroyed every building we owned except the house itself."

"Austin! You're not in earnest!"

"I never was more so."

"Oh, I'm sorry--more sorry than I can tell you!" One of the little hands
that had been withdrawn a moment earlier groped for his in the darkness,
and pressed it gently; she did not speak for some minutes, but finally
she went on: "It seems a dreadful thing to say, but perhaps it may prove
a blessing in disguise. I believe Thomas is right in thinking that a
smaller farm, which you could manage easily and well without hiring help,
would be more profitable; and now it will seem the most natural thing in
the world to sell that great southern meadow to Mr. Weston."