He bowed his head to her passion and sat in silence, while she raged on.
"Do you know we haven't got ten pounds of flour in the house? And another blizzard likely? And no butter, either? What y' goin' to do? Let me starve?"
"I did intend to go over to Bussy's and get back the flour they borrowed of us, but I'm a little afraid to go out to-day; it looks like another norther. The wind's rising, and old Tom—"
"But that's just the reason why you've got to go. We can't run such risks. We've got to eat or die—you ought to know that."
Burke rose, and began putting on his wraps. "I'll go over and see what I can squeeze out of old lady Bussy."
"Oh, this wind will drive me crazy!" she cried out. "Oh, I wish somebody would come!" She dropped upon the bed, sobbing with a hysterical catching of the breath. The wind was piping a high-keyed, mourning note on the chimney-top, a sound that rang echoing down through every hidden recess of her brain, shaking her, weakening her, till at last she turned upon her husband with wild eyes.
"Take me with you! I can't stay here any longer—I shall go crazy!" She turned her head to listen. "Isn't some one coming? Look out and see! I hear bells!"
Burke tried to soothe her in his timid, clumsy fashion.
"There, there, now—sit down. You ain't well, Blanche. I'll ask Mrs. Bussy to come—"
She suddenly seemed to remember something. "Don't talk to her. Go to Craig's. Don't go to Bussy's—please don't! I hate her. I won't be in her debt."