At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. Above the housetops it was different. She said that in the note. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. He thought he heard a scraping sound as he turned the handle. But she was not to be tempted.
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