Sylvia sat up straight in the chair.  She had on her best bonnet and shawl, and her worked lace veil over her face.  Her poor blue eyes stared out between the black silk leaves and roses.  If she had been a dead woman and riding to her grave, and it had been possible for her to see as she was borne along the familiar road, she would have regarded everything in much the same fashion that she did now.  She looked at everything—­every tree, every house and wall—­with a pang of parting forever.  She felt as if she should never see them again in their old light.

The poor-house was three miles out of the village; the road lay past Richard Alger’s house.  When they drew near it Sylvia bent her head low and averted her face; she shut her eyes behind the black roses.  She did not want to know when she passed the house.  An awful shame that Richard should see her riding past to the poor-house seized upon her.

The wood-sled went grating on, a chain rattled; she calculated that they were nearly past when there was a jerk, and Jonathan Leavitt cried “Hullo!”

“Where are you going?” shouted another voice.  Sylvia knew it.  Her heart pounded.  She turned her face farther to one side, and did not open her eyes.

Richard Alger came plunging down out of his yard.  His handsome face was quite pale under a slight grizzle of beard, he was in his shirt-sleeves, he had on no dicky or stock, and his sinewy throat showed.

“Where you goin’?” he gasped out again, as he came up to the sled.

“I’m a takin’ Sylvy home.  Why?” inquired Jonathan Leavitt, with a dazed look.

“Home?  What are you headed this way for?  What are all those things on the sled?”

“She’s lived out her place, an’ the town’s jest took it; guess you didn’t know, Richard,” said Jonathan Leavitt.  His eyes upon the other man were half shrewdly inquiring, half bewildered.

Sylvia never turned her head.  She sat with her eyes closed behind her veil.

[Illustration:  “Sylvia never turned her head”]

“Just turn that sled ’round,” said Richard Alger.

“Turn the sled ’round?”

“Yes, turn it ’round!” Richard himself grasped the bay horse by the bit as he spoke.  “Back, back!” he shouted.

“What are you doin’ on, Richard?” cried the old man; but he pulled his right rein mechanically, and the sled slewed slowly and safely around.

Richard jumped on and stood just beside Sylvia, holding to a stake.  “Where d’ye want to go?” asked the old man.

“Back.”

“But the town—­”

“I’ll take care of the town.”

Jonathan Leavitt drove back.  Sylvia opened her eyes a little way, and saw Richard’s back.  “You’ll catch cold without your coat,” she half gasped.

“No, I sha’n’t,” returned Richard, but he did not turn his head.

Sylvia did not say any more.  She was trembling so that her very thoughts seemed to waver.  They turned the corner of the old road, and drove up to her old house.  Richard stepped off the sled, and held out his hands to Sylvia.  “Come, get off,” said he.