The wind raved on; the windows shook; the door easements creaked as if an angry hand were upon them; the white curtains flapped in and out. There was the heavy tramp of men's feet upon the stair; the rough murmur of men's voices in the hall. She knew they were carrying the dead woman to her room.
Hours of silence followed. The Bull had gone with his men to the bunkhouse, and she was alone in the house with the dead woman. For the first time, a sense of peace, a passionate gladness swept over the tortured girl. Mrs. Langdon would know the truth at last! She would have no blame in her heart for Nettie—— Nettie, who had a psychic sense of the warm nearness and understanding of the woman who had passed away.
As she dressed in the darkness of the room, Nettie talked to her, she believed was with her, catching her breath in trembling little sobs and laughs of reassurance.
"You understand now, don't you, and you don't hold it against me? I didn't mean no wrong.... I done the best I could. You don't ask me to stay now that you know, do you, dear?"
The plaid woolen shawl, a Christmas gift from Mrs. Langdon, covered her completely. The gray light of dawn was filtering through the house; the wind had died down. In its place the snow was falling upon the land, spotless and silent. Nettie's face was whiter than the snow as she left her room. Mrs. Langdon's door was closed, and, hesitating only a moment, Nettie stole to it on tiptoe. With her face pressed against it, she called to the woman inside.
"Good-by, Mrs. Langdon. Nobody will ever be so kind to me in this world as you have been."
She listened, almost as if she heard that faint, sweet voice in reply. Then, strangely comforted, she wrapped her cape closer about her, and in her rubbered feet Nettie Day stole down the stairs and went out into the storm.