Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. ” “I am not afraid,” she answered. She watched for five minutes until he completely disappeared over Pine Crest, past the yellow fire hydrant and the dented stop sign. “I am going to fetch some things that will be wanted if he pulls through the next hour. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. "What have you got there in your breast—a stone? Is there blood or water in your veins?" The dam broke, but not with violence. "I am here, you see," said the smith. I don’t care.
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