"It is fair now," said Patricia, "but in a little while it will be winter and very cold."
"Bitterly cold," said the woman. "The snow lies long in these hills, and the wind howls down the ravine."
"And the wolves are bold in winter."
"Very bold. This scar upon my arm is from the teeth of one which I fought here, on the very threshold."
"The Indians threaten always, summer or winter."
"Ay, sooner or later they will come against us. We shall die that way at last. But what does it matter—so that we die together?"
The lady of the manor turned her pure, pale face upon the other with wonder, and yet with comprehension, written upon it.
"You are happy!" she said, almost in a whisper.
"Yes, I am happy," the woman answered, a light that was not from the faintly crimson west upon her face.