And, as the days dragged and the storm did not abate, even talking began to irk Lawler.

There would be periods during which they would be silent, listening to the howling and moaning of the wind--hours at a stretch when the cold outside would seem to threaten, to tighten its constricting circle, when a great awe oppressed them; when it seemed that the whole world was snowbound, and that it would keep piling over and around them and all life would be extinct.
It was on the morning of the tenth day that Lawler began to notice that the dread monotony and the white, ever-present menace were beginning to affect the girl.

Her face was white and in her eyes was a haunting gleam of fear.

He noted how she clasped her hands; how she nervously twined and untwined her fingers, and how she kept pushing her chair toward him, as though for protection.
A swift sympathy seized him; he laughed, lowly, reaching out a hand and laying it lightly on her shoulder as she started at the sound of his voice and drew a quick, startled breath.
"Oh!" she said; "will it never end ?" "It can't last much longer, Miss Wharton," he smiled.

"It has held on longer, now, than it should at this season." The sound of his voice reassured her--it was calm, quiet, confident.
Some color came back into her face, and she smiled.
"I believe I was beginning to get the doldrums," she said.
"That wouldn't be startling, Miss Wharton.