This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1902. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... L The wind was tearing across the wide, unsheltered plains of La Beauce, sweeping the dust in eddying clouds and making the road toilsome to two wayfarers who, with heads bent against the blast, were journeying toward the town; to one, at least, who fell behind with ever-lagging step. The lithe figure of the man, though burdened with the awkward bulk of a harp slung across his shoulders by a leathern strap, pressed forward, his bent head alone showing that he felt the resistance, but the woman toiled after him with flagging gait, weariness and discouragement in her whole mien. The wind caught at the brown cape she wore and whirled it about her head, slapping her cheeks with corners of it, now this side and now that; anon snatching with impudent fingers at the short strands of hair that escaped from under the edge of her woollen Tamo'-Shanter and driving them into her eyes. She uttered no complaint, only now and again looked deprecatingly, as a loving dog might do, when her husband checked his stride and looked back impatiently. "Go you on," she said by and by; "never mind me. I'll come soon. I think I really must rest a bit; this wind is taking all the strength out of my legs." He came back then with compunction and helped her down the bank, for the causeway was slightly raised, that she might rest her back against it and get, if it might be, an atom of shelter. "You used to be such a valiant comrade, Phenie," he said, half compassionate, half reproachful; "such a famous walker, never tired. I can't think what has come to you." She turned her face away and plucked at the little wide-eyed daisies that starred the grass beside her. She had been flagging lately and she knew it worried him. Till now she had always been equal to anything, or, if he wanted to extend h...