“This is Mr. Sharp; Sid, shake hands with Mrs. Frank Taylor.”

It was the first time that she had heard herself called by her new name.  It came as a distinct and not altogether pleasant shock.

Once again her husband lifted her in his strong arms to the back seat of the rough-looking wagon and saw to it that she was warmly wrapped up, for, although there was little or no snow to be seen at Prentice, the night air was sharply chill.  She moved over a little to make room for him at her side; but without appearing to notice her action, he jumped lightly onto the front seat beside his friend.

“Let ’em go, Sid.  Everything all comfortable?” he asked, turning to Nora.

“Quite, thanks.”

Throughout the long cold drive, they exchanged no further word.  Frank and Sid seemed to have much to say to each other about their respective farms.  Nora gathered from what she could hear that Sharp had played the part of a good neighbor, during her husband’s enforced absence, in having a general oversight of his house.

“You’ll find the fence’s down in quite a few places.  I allowed to fix it myself when I had the spare time, but when I heard that you was comin’ back so soon, I just naturally let her go.”

“Sure, that was right.  It’ll give me something to do right at home.  I don’t want to leave Mrs. Taylor too much alone until she gets a little used to it.  She’s always been used to a lot of company,” Nora heard him say.

She smiled to herself in the darkness and felt a little warm feeling of gratitude.  She was right in her estimate.  This man would be tractable enough, after all.  His attitude toward women, which, had formerly so enraged her, was only on the surface.  An affectation assumed to annoy her when they were always quarreling.  How foolish she had been not to read him more accurately.  For the first time, she felt a little return of self-confidence.  She would bring this hazardous experiment to a successful conclusion, after all.  It was really failure that she had most feared.

But her heart sank within her once more when at last they drew up in front of a long, low cabin built of logs.  Mr. Sharp had not overstated the dilapidated state of the fence.  It sagged in half a dozen places and one hinge of the gate was broken.  Altogether it was as dreary a picture as one could well imagine.  The little cabin had the utterly forlorn look of a house that has long been unoccupied.

“Woa there!  Stand still, can’t you?” said Sharp, tugging at the reins.

“A tidy pull, that last bit,” said Frank.  “Trail’s very bad.”

“Stand still, you brute!  Wait a minute, Mrs. Taylor.”

“I guess she wants to get home.”

Taylor vaulted lightly from his seat and, without waiting to help Nora, ran up the path to the house.  As she stood up, trying to disentangle herself from the heavy lap-robe, she could hear a key turn noisily in a lock.  With a jerk, he threw the door wide open.