I stood and gazed at her a moment; then, as she did not offer to move, I brought wood to the fire and made the forlorn room bright again.

“Where is Rolfe?” I asked at last.

“He would have stayed,” she answered, “but I made him go. I wished to be alone.” She rose, and going to the window leaned her forehead against the bars, and looked out upon the wild sky and the hurrying river. “I would I were alone,” she said in a low voice and with a catch of her breath. As she stood there in the twilight by the window, I knew that she was weeping, though her pride strove to keep that knowledge from me. My heart ached for her, and I knew not how to comfort her. At last she turned. A pasty and stoup of wine were upon the table.