As they flew toward the tree Mattie pressed her arms tighter, and her blood seemed to be in his veins.  Once or twice the sled swerved a little under them.  He slanted his body to keep it headed for the elm, repeating to himself again and again:  “I know we can fetch it”; and little phrases she had spoken ran through his head and danced before him on the air.  The big tree loomed bigger and closer, and as they bore down on it he thought:  “It’s waiting for us:  it seems to know.”  But suddenly his wife’s face, with twisted monstrous lineaments, thrust itself between him and his goal, and he made an instinctive movement to brush it aside.  The sled swerved in response, but he righted it again, kept it straight, and drove down on the black projecting mass.  There was a last instant when the air shot past him like millions of fiery wires; and then the elm...

The sky was still thick, but looking straight up he saw a single star, and tried vaguely to reckon whether it were Sirius, or-or-The effort tired him too much, and he closed his heavy lids and thought that he would sleep...  The stillness was so profound that he heard a little animal twittering somewhere near by under the snow.  It made a small frightened cheep like a field mouse, and he wondered languidly if it were hurt.  Then he understood that it must be in pain:  pain so excruciating that he seemed, mysteriously, to feel it shooting through his own body.  He tried in vain to roll over in the direction of the sound, and stretched his left arm out across the snow.  And now it was as though he felt rather than heard the twittering; it seemed to be under his palm, which rested on something soft and springy.  The thought of the animal’s suffering was intolerable to him and he struggled to raise himself, and could not because a rock, or some huge mass, seemed to be lying on him.  But he continued to finger about cautiously with his left hand, thinking he might get hold of the little creature and help it; and all at once he knew that the soft thing he had touched was Mattie’s hair and that his hand was on her face.

He dragged himself to his knees, the monstrous load on him moving with him as he moved, and his hand went over and over her face, and he felt that the twittering came from her lips...

He got his face down close to hers, with his ear to her mouth, and in the darkness he saw her eyes open and heard her say his name.

“Oh, Matt, I thought we’d fetched it,” he moaned; and far off, up the hill, he heard the sorrel whinny, and thought:  “I ought to be getting him his feed...”

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The querulous Drone ceased as I entered Frome’s kitchen, and of the two women sitting there I could not tell which had been the speaker.