unbearable. The
night was still and starlit, the air keen and thin as a knife-blade.
Stephen strode along the narrow frosty path, and took the road down into
the town. On his way he passed Talbot's cabin. It was lighted up. The
little window made a square of yellow light in the darkness; the blind
over it was drawn only half-way down. Stephen stepped up over the bank
of frosted snow and looked in. The great fire lighted up the whole of
the small interior, and threw its red light up to the cross logs in the
roof. In the centre of the room, at a table. Talbot sat working. There
were some sheets of paper before him, and he held a pen in his hand with
which he was checking off some figures. His face was turned to the
window; it looked pale and tired, but there was a curious expression of
extreme tranquillity upon it--a settled, serene patience that struck the
onlooker. He sat there working on steadily, motionless, calm as a figure
in stone; and poor Stephen, torn in the struggle of his desires,
slipping into the cold slough of self-condemnation, and burnt with the
fever of greed, groaned aloud as he stood outside. Then he turned from
the window and plunged back through the snow to the path that led to the
town. He wanted to see Katrine, and yet he hated the thought of facing
her after their parting of last night. What must she think of him? With
her quick mental perceptions she would have seen through and through his
miserable mind; seen that the gold had got hold of him, held him now,
and that his boasted religion had no power against it. No, he thought,
he could not face her--he was still some distance from the town; then as
he drew nearer, the unappeasable desire to see her and hear her fresh
bright voice came over him. When he reached Good Luck Row he went
straight to No. 13. He might have saved himself the trouble of his
decisions. Katrine had decided for him whether he should see her that
night or not. The window was dark; he tried the door, it was fastened;
she was evidently not there. A chill ran over Stephen from head to foot,
and then he recognized how much he had really wanted to see her. He
stood outside the door a long time; the row was quiet, there were few
passers. He waited, hoping to see her come up each minute--perhaps she
had only gone out on some errand; but the minutes passed and he grew
cold standing there, still she did not come. At last Stephen moved away
from the door and wandered disconsolately down