CHAPTER IV.
The wind that in the hurly-burly out of doors had been a cheerful if boisterous enemy, seemed suddenly transformed into a wailing spirit when Susannah was making her way up the stairs of the darkening wooden house.
Its master and mistress had not yet returned from burying the dead.

The girl made her way up to Ephraim's room.

The books were left open upon the table; no one was there.
It was a new thing that Ephraim should breast a storm.
Susannah trudged downstairs again and dried her bedraggled skirts at the fire--an empty house, a dreary wailing wind, and gathering twilight for her sole companions.
At length a step was heard.

Ephraim came in bearing Susannah's rain cloak and goloshes.

He was wet, pale, and breathless, but he would not betray his weakness and excitement by a word.
"You were looking for me, Ephraim, and some one told you that I had come home.