o go, supposing that he would return! It was not her
wish to express her affection or sorrow in any way; it was not her
nature to put her emotions into words; but ah, holy saints! just to see
him again, and at least take leave of him with her eyes!

It was very sad that he should simply cease to come, yet that she knew
was just what was natural; a man does not bid adieux to a railway
station, and Zilda knew that she was, as it were, only part of the
station furniture. She resented nothing; she had nothing to resent.

So the winter came again, and Christmas, and again the days grew longer
over the snowfields. Zilda always looked for the sunsets now, for she
had been taught that they were beautiful. She cultivated geraniums and
petunias in pots at her windows, just as she had done for many winters,
but she would stop oftener to admire the flowers now.

The men had taken again to congregating in the hot close bar-room, or
huddling together in their buffalo coats, smoking in the outer air.
Zilda looked at the wood pile, from which no one jumped now, with weary
eyes. It had grown intolerable to her that now no one ever mentioned
Gilby; she longed intensely to hear his name or to speak it. She dared
not mention him gravely, soberly, because she was conscious of her
secret which no one suspected. But it was open to her to revive the
mimicry. 'Voici Monsieur Geelby,' she would cry, and pass along the
station platform with consequential gait. A great laugh would break from
the station loungers. 'Encore,' they cried, and Zilda gave the encore.

There was only one other relief she found from the horrible silence
which had settled down upon her life concerning the object of her
affection. At times when she lay awake in the quiet night, or at such
times as she found herself within the big stone church of St. Armand,
she prayed that the good St. Anne would intercede for her, that she
might see 'Monsieur Geelby' once more.

This big church of St. Armand has a great pointed roof of shining tin.
It is a bright and conspicuous object always in that landscape; under
summer and winter sun it glistens like some huge lighthouse reflector.
Ever since, whenever Zilda goes out on the station platform, for a
breath of air, for a moment's rest and refreshing, or, on business
intent, to chide the loungers there, the roof of this church, at a
half-mile's distance, twinkles brightly before her eyes, set in green
fields or in a snow-buried world;