And yet, battering at that instinctive feeling, came the knowledge that she was to start for New York the next day.  She felt suddenly that she could not.  “I can’t!  I can’t!” she cried dumbly.  “I can’t, even if I have to!”

An instant later, like an echo, a fiercer gust than usual swept down off the ledge of rock above the little house, rattled the loose old window, and sent a sharp blade of icy air full in the old woman’s eyes.  She gasped and started back.  And then, all in a breath, her face grew calm and smooth, and her eyes bright with a sudden resolve.  Without a moment’s hesitation, she turned to her husband and said in a tone more like her old self than he had heard for some time, “Father, I wish you’d go over to Mrs. Warner’s and take back that pattern.  If we’re going to leave to-morrow, you know——­”

The old man rose obediently, and began putting on his wraps.  His wife helped him, and hurried him eagerly off.  When she was alone, she tore at the fastening of her gown in a fury of haste, baring her wrinkled old throat widely.  Then without a glance about her, she opened the door to the woodshed, stepped out, and closed it behind her.  The cold clutched at her throat like a palpable hand of ice, and her first involuntary gasp set her into a fit of coughing.

She sat down on the stump where kindlings were always split and opened her gown wider.  She noticed how fair and smooth the skin on her shoulders still was and remembered that her husband had always been proud of her pretty neck.  She had worn a low-necked dress when he had told her he loved her.  That had been in the garden, into which she could now look as she sat on the stump.  She had been picking currants for tea, and he had gone out to see her.  The scene came up before her so vividly that she heard his voice, and felt herself turn to him with the light grace of her girlhood and cry again, in an ecstasy of surprised joy, “Oh, Nathaniel!”

A gust of wind whirled a handful of snow against her and some of it settled on her bare shoulders.  She watched it melt and felt the icy little trickle with a curious aloofness.  Suddenly she began to shiver, gripped by a dreadful chill, which shook her like a strong hand.  After that she was very still again, the death-like cold penetrating deeper and deeper until her breath came in constricted gasps.  She did not stir until she heard the front door bang to her husband’s return.  Then she rose with infinite effort and struggled back into the kitchen.  When he came in, she was standing by the sink, fumbling idly with the dishes.  Already her head was whirling, and she scarcely knew what she was doing.