By day or night, from far or near, the cure comes bearing the Holy Sacrament-across angry rivers in the spring, over the treacherous ice, along roads choked with snow, fighting the bitter north-west wind; aided by miracles, he never fails; he fulfils his sacred office, and thenceforward there is room for neither doubt nor fear.
Death is but a glorious preferment, a door that opens to the joys unspeakable of the elect.
The wind had risen and was shaking the Partitions as window-panes rattle in a sudden gust.

The nor'wester came howling over the dark tree-tops, fell upon the clearing about the little wooden buildings--house, stable, barn--in' squalls and-wicked whirlwinds that sought to lift the roof and smote the walls like a battering-ram, before sweeping onward to the forest in a baffled fury.

The house trembled from base to chimneytop, and swayed on its foundation in such a fashion that the inmates, feeling the onslaught, hearing the roar and shriek of the foe, were almost as sensible of the terrors of the storm as though they were exposed to it; lacking the consciousness of safe retreat that belongs to those who are sheltered by strong walls of stone.
Tit'Sebe cast his eyes about.

"A good house you have here; tightly made and warm.

Your father and the boys built it, did they not?
Moreover, you must have a good bit of land cleared by this time ..." So loud was the wind that they did not hear the sound of sleigh-bells, and suddenly the door flew open against the wall and the cure of St.Henri entered, bearing the Host in his raised hands.
Maria and Tit'Sebe fell upon their knees; Tit'Be ran to shut the door, then also knelt.