The fever was flickering in her high-boned cheeks when she opened the door of the desolate farmhouse.

She wore a brown calico gown; her abundant black hair was not yet streaked with gray.

Caius could not see that she looked much older than she had done upon the evening, years ago, when he had first had reason to observe her closely.

He remembered what Josephine had told him--that time had stood still with her since that night: it seemed true in more senses than one.

A light of satisfaction showed itself in her dark face when, after a moment's inspection, she realized who he was.
"Come in," she said briefly.
Caius went in, and had reason to regret, as well on his own account as on hers, that she shut the door.