A WIND FLOWER
fodils and stopped to watch him long after he had passed, wondering at the silver in her hand.
At the familiar gate a tall, thin woman's figure stopped his heart a second, and as a fitful gust blew out her apron and tossed her shawl over her head, he felt his breath come more quickly.
"Good heavens!" he muttered, "what folly! Am I never to see a woman's skirt blown without?"
She put the shawl back as he neared her—it was Mrs. Storrs's sister. She met his outstretched hand with a blank stare. Suddenly her face twitched convulsively.
"O Mr. Willard! O Mr. Willard!" she cried, and burst into tears.
The wind blew sharper, the elm tree near the window creaked, a dull pain grew in him.
"What is it? What's the matter?" he said brusquely.
"I suppose you ain't heard—you wouldn't be apt to!" she sobbed, and pushing back the locks the wind drove into her reddened eyes, she broke into incoherent sentences: he heard her as one in a dream.
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