Carl could not cope with Thyra 's moods . He had never understood her , even in his youth . Now he went home , still shrugging his shoulders , and thinking that it was a good thing Thyra had not looked on him with favor in the old days . Cynthia was much easier to get along with . More than Thyra looked anxiously to sea and sky that night in Avonlea . Damaris Garland listened to the smothered roar of the Atlantic in the murky northeast with a prescience of coming disaster . Friendly longshoremen shook their heads and said that Ches and Joe would better have kept to good , dry land . `` It 's sorry work joking with a November gale , '' said Abel Blair . He was an old man and , in his life , had seen some sad things along the shore . Thyra could not sleep that night . When the gale came shrieking up the river , and struck the house , she got out of bed and dressed herself . The wind screamed like a ravening beast at her window . All night she wandered to and fro in the house , going from room to room , now wringing her hands with loud outcries , now praying below her breath with white lips , now listening in dumb misery to the fury of the storm . The wind raged all the next day ; but spent itself in the following night , and the second morning was calm and fair . The eastern sky was a great arc of crystal , smitten through with auroral crimsonings . Thyra , looking from her kitchen window , saw a group of men on the bridge . They were talking to Carl White , with looks and gestures directed towards the Carewe house . She went out and down to them . None of these who saw her white , rigid face that day ever forgot the sight . `` You have news for me , '' she said .
They looked XXXXX each other , each man mutely imploring his neighbor to speak .
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