As
it was--she never, _never_ would forgive him.
CHAPTER XII
THE FIRES OF SPRING
There came a day when the metallic brilliancy went out of the sky, and
it became softly, mistily blue. All that forenoon Hazel prowled
restlessly out of doors without cap or coat. There was a new feel in
the air. The deep winter snow had suddenly lost its harshness. A
tentative stillness wrapped the North as if the land rested a moment,
gathering its force for some titanic effort.
Toward evening a mild breeze freshened from the southwest. The tender
blue of the sky faded at sundown to a slaty gray. Long wraiths of
cloud floated up with the rising wind. At ten o'clock a gale whooped
riotously through the trees. And at midnight Hazel wakened to a sound
that she had not heard in months. She rose and groped her way to the
window. The encrusting frost had vanished from the panes. They were
wet to the touch of her fingers. She unhooked the fastening, and swung
the window out. A great gust of damp, warm wind blew strands of hair
across her face. She leaned through the casement, and drops of cold
water struck her bare neck. That which she had heard was the dripping
eaves.
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