When she got back to her room, she found a small packet on her table.  It contained Mr. Reffold’s watch-chain.  She had so often seen him playing with it.  There was a little piece of paper enclosed with it, and Mr. Reffold had written on it some two months ago:  “Give my watch-chain to Little Brick, if she will sacrifice a little of her pride, and accept the gift.”  Bernardine unfastened her watch from the black hair cord, and attached it instead to Mr. Reffold’s massive gold chain.

As she sat there fiddling with it, the idea seized her that she would be all the better for a day’s outing.  At first she thought she would go alone, and then she decided to ask Robert Allitsen.  She learnt from Marie that he was in the dark room, and she hastened down.  She knocked several times before there was any answer.

“I can’t be disturbed just now,” he said.  “Who is it?”

“I can’t shout to you,” she said.

The Disagreeable Man opened the door of the dark room.

“My negatives will be spoilt,” he said gruffly.  Then seeing Bernardine standing there, he added: 

“Why, you look as though you wanted some brandy.”

“No,” she said, smiling at his sudden change of manner.  “I want fresh air, a sledge drive, and a day’s outing.  Will you come?”

He made no answer, and retired once more into the dark room.  Then he came out with his camera.

“We will go to that inn again,” he said cheerily.  “I want to take the photographs to those peasants.”

In half an hours time they were on their way.  It was the same drive as before:  and since then, Bernardine had seen more of the country, and was more accustomed to the wonderful white scenery:  but still the “white presences” awed her, and still the deep silence held her.  It was the same scene, and yet not the same either, for the season was now far advanced, and the melting of the snows had begun.  In the far distance the whiteness seemed as before; but on the slopes near at hand, the green was beginning to assert itself, and some of the great trees had cast off their heavy burdens, and appeared more gloomy in their freedom than in the days of their snow-bondage.  The roads were no longer quite so even as before; the sledge glided along when it could, and bumped along when it must.  Still, there was sufficient snow left to make the drive possible, and even pleasant.

The two companions were quiet.  Once only the Disagreeable Man made a remark, and then he said: 

“I am afraid my negatives will be spoilt!”

“You said that before,” Bernardine remarked.

“Well, I say it again,” he answered in his grim way.

Then came a long pause.

“The best part of the winter is over,” he said.  “We may have some more snow; but it is more probable that we shall not.  It is not enjoyable being here during the melting time.”

“Well, in any case I should not be here much longer,” she said; “and for a simple reason, too.  I have nearly come to the end of my money.  I shall have to go back and set to work again.  I should not have been able to give myself this chance, but that my uncle spared me some of his money, to which I added my savings.”