She did not move. Her eyes were on the ground. Pride and Fear were having their last struggle, and Fear conquered. Without looking at her husband she could feel that his patience was nearing an end. Very slowly she stooped down and picked up the teapot and the broken cups and saucers and laid them on the table. Blindly she tottered over to the rocking-chair and burst into a pa.s.sion of tears.

"And I thought I knew what it was to be unhappy!"

He watched her with a slight, but not unkindly, smile on his face.

"Come on, my girl," he said, without any trace of anger, "don't shirk the rest of it."

Through her laced fingers, she looked at the mess of spilled tea on the floor. Keeping her tear-marred face turned away from him, she slowly got up, and slowly found the broom and swept it all into a little heap on the newspaper that lay where he had left it.

Suddenly she threw back her head. Her eyes shone with a new resolution.

He watched her, wondering. With a quick, firm step, she carried the rolled-up paper to the stove and shoved it far into the glowing embers.

Gathering up the crockery, after a glance around the room in search of some receptacle which her eye did not find, she carried it over to the wood-pile, laying it upon the logs. The broom was restored to its corner. She took up her hat and coat and began to put them on.

"What are you doing?"

"I've done what you _made_ me do, now I'm going."

"Where, if I might ask?"

"What do I care, as long as I get away."

"You ain't under the impression that there's a first-cla.s.s hotel round the corner, are you? There ain't."

"I can go to the Sharps."

"I guess they're in bed and asleep by now."

"I'll wake them."

"You'd never find your way. It's pitch dark. Look."

He threw open the door. It was true. The sky had clouded over. The feeling of the air had changed. It smelt of storm.

"I'll sleep out of doors, then."

"On the prairie? Why, you'd freeze to death before morning."

"What does it matter to you whether I live or die?"

"It matters a great deal. Once more, let me remind you that women are scarce in Manitoba."

"Are you going to keep me from going?"

"Sure."

He closed the door and placed his back against it.

"You can't keep me here against my will. If I don't go to-night, I can go to-morrow."

"To-morrow's a long, long way off."

Her hand flew to her throat.

"Frank! What do you mean?"

"I don't know what silly fancies you've had in your head; but when I married you I intended that you should be a proper wife to me."

"But--but--but you understood."

It was all she could do to force the words from her dry throat. With a desperate effort she pulled herself together and tried to talk calmly and reasonably.

"I'm sorry for the way I've behaved, Frank. It was silly and childish of me to struggle with you. You irritated me, you see, by the way you spoke and the tone you took."

"Oh, I don't mind. I don't know much about women and I guess they're queer. We had to fix things up sometime and I guess there's no harm in getting it over right now."

"You've beaten me all along the line and I'm in your power. Have mercy on me!"

"I guess you won't have much cause to complain."

"I married you in a fit of temper. It was very stupid of me. I'm very sorry that I--that I've been all this trouble to you. Won't you let me go?"

"No, I can't do that."

"I'm no good to you. You've told me that I'm useless. I can't do any of the things that you want a wife to do. Oh," she ended pa.s.sionately, "you can't be so hard-hearted as to make me pay with all my whole life for one moment's madness!"

"What good will it do you if I let you go? Will you go to Gertie and beg her to take you back again? You've got too much pride for that."

She made a gesture of abnegation: "I don't think I've got much pride left."

"Don't you think you'd better give it a try?"

Once more hope wakened in Nora's heart. His tone was so reasonable. If she kept her self-control, she might yet win. She sat down on one of the stools and spoke in a tone that was almost conversational.

"All this life is so strange to me. Back in England, they think it's so different from what it really is. I thought I should have a horse to ride, that there would be dances and parties. And when I came out, I was so out of it all. I felt in the way. And yesterday Gertie drove me frantic so that I felt I couldn't stay a moment longer in that house. I acted on impulse. I didn't know what I was doing. I made a mistake. You can't have the _heart_ to take advantage of it."

"I knew you was making a mistake, but that was your lookout. When I sell a man a horse, he can look it over for himself. I ain't obliged to tell him its faults."

"Do you mean to say that after I've begged you almost on my knees to let me go, you'll force me to stay?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: FRANK GLIMPSES THE APPROACHING STORM THAT MEANS HIS RUIN.]

"That's what I mean."

"Oh, why did I ever trap myself so!"

"Come, my girl, let's let bygones be bygones," he said good-humoredly.

"Come, give me a kiss."

She tried a new tack.