Now and then a vehicle passed her, but she made no effort to be hailed by any passer nor did she shun these encounters, but rather she set herself to the business of the road and to her tears. She did not know when she passed the camps although the moon arose soon after sunset and she was well lighted along the way. How, her tears were continually questioning her, how did she, Ellen Chesser, ever come to such a state of need that a person outside herself, some other being, not herself, some person free to go and come and risk accidents far from herself, should hold the very key to her life and breath in his hand? Her tears flowed anew for pity of such a device among men and they flowed anew at each recognition of her own loss. Sometimes a low moaning came with her sighs, but she walked steadily forward.

Once during the night a quick step sounded along the road behind her, but she did not look back nor did she in any manner change her pace nor take the sound of the coming footfall into her thought. The ground and the air were as nothing to her, for all her life had been plucked out and there was nothing left but the knowledge that it had been taken away. The step came very near and a man fell in pace beside her, making some remark of greeting, but she was scarcely aware of his words. That a person outside herself, another being separate in flesh, should be a part of herself and, withdrawing, could break her – she wept afresh. The man announced his intention, laying his hand on her arm, but she walked steadily on and his words scarcely entered the outer porch of her ears. His hand still upon her arm they came out onto an open stretch of road where the moon shone brightly, and her face was revealed in all its sorrow and its flow of tears. The man dropped his hand from her and moved on beside her, talking, asking questions, but she changed no detail of her grieving. After a long interval a low moan would come with her sigh. Finally the man fell back from her way and she went forward alone.

In the road beyond Turpin’s cabin she met one of the hounds, one of the large brown beasts from the Gowan farm that wandered masterless each night over the hills. It came toward her eagerly, licking her hands, and with the dog beside her she walked up through the lane. She could hear his stately tread on the road and feel now and then the rise and fall of his head as it brushed her hand. Thus they came into MacMurtrie’s land where the fence was torn away and thus they walked through the wasted field where MacMurtrie’s grain had once stood. They came down the pasture road, the dog making small half-circles about her, his step soft-padded and light, or he came back to walk beside her, licking her hand that was shed of its strength by the force of her grief. The hound stopped by the cherry clumps and she went unattended through the gate and onto the stoop of the cabin, walking softly, hushed more by her sorrow than by any wish to enter unheard. Her steps were softly plodding as she passed through the lower room, and in the same pace she took the stairs.