It brought the news that Wicker was going South to recuperate.

His system had "gone off" since the accident, and the March winds were driving him away temporarily.

Rosalie's heart ached that night, and there was a still, cold dread in its depths that drove sleep away.

He had not written to her, and she had begun to fear that their month had been a trifle to him, after all.

Now she was troubled and grieved that she should have entertained the fear.