After musing for some time, he got up and went to the window. Outside,
the snow covered everything--the fields, the roads, the frozen lake and
river. The houses were half hidden, and the pines on the hill bore up
great banks of snow. From the window the view was beautiful in its
solemn whiteness. From the white level of the distant frozen lake,
broken patches of brown protruded. These were the islands on one of
which Signe Dahl had lived. Henrik wondered what had become of her, and
where in the big America she had taken up her abode. He had heard that
she was well and happy, but further than that he had not set himself to
learn. Long ago he had put behind him philosophically his affair with
Signe. He had ceased to think of her as anything more than a sweet, yet
strange girl who could resist such an offer as he had extended to her.
As Henrik was looking out of the window, he saw the young stranger who
had visited him less then an hour ago, returning down the road. Just as
he was about to pass, Henrik hailed him and asked him to come in again,
meeting him at the door.
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