But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Acting upon this humane determination, he impelled himself slowly backwards,—for he did not dare to face the blast,—and with incredible labour and fatigue reached the crevice. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed.
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