re
not wholly astray in believing that they had little place in the
thoughts or interests of the occupants of the hill farm. Indifference
begat indifference, and now the lonely, helpless man had neither the
power nor the disposition to bridge the chasm which separated him from
those who might have given him kindly and intelligent aid. He was
making a pathetic effort to keep his home and to prevent his heart from
being torn bleeding away from all it loved. His neighbors thought that
he was merely exerting himself to keep the dollars which it had been
the supreme motive of his life to accumulate.

Giving no thought to the opinions of others, Holcroft only knew that he
was in sore straits--that all which made his existence a blessing was
at stake.

At times, during these lonely and stormy March days, he would dismiss
his anxious speculations in regard to his future course. He was so
morbid, especially at night, that he felt that his wife could revisit
the quiet house. He cherished the hope that she could see him and hear
what he said, and he spoke in her viewless presence with a freedom and
fullness that was unlike his old reticence and habit of repression. He
wondered that he had not said more endearing words and given her
stronger assurance of how much she was to him. Late at night, he would
start out of a long reverie, take a candle, and, going through the
house, would touch what she had touched, and look long and fixedly at
things associated with her. Her gowns still hung in the closet, just
as she had left them; he would take them out and recall the
well-remembered scenes and occasions when they were worn. At such
times, she almost seemed beside him, and he had a consciousness of
companionship which soothed his perturbed spirit. He felt that she
appreciated such loving remembrance, although unable to express her
approval. He did not know it, but his nature was being softened,
deepened, and enriched by these deep and unwonted experiences; the hard
materiality of his life was passing away, rendering him capable of
something better than he had ever known.

In the morning all the old, prosaic problems of his life would return,
with their hard, practical insistence, and he knew that he must decide
upon something very soon. His lonely vigils and days of quiet had
brought him to the conclusion that he could not hunt up a wife as a
matter of business. He would rather face the "ever angry bears" than
breathe the