A mass of black clouds was
rolling up from the north, and an unexpected wind came bellowing down
the coombs, bending the stunted oaks and dark pines and filling the air
with sonorous but ominous music. The hills around soon became
invisible, blotted out by fragments of the gathering mists. The cold
sleet stung their faces. Out on the moors was no sound but time
tinkling of distant sheep bells.
"There's snow coming," Segerson muttered, as he turned up his coat
collar.
"It won't do any harm," she answered. "The earth lies warm under it."
The lights of Parracombe, precipitous and unexpected, were like flecks
in the sky, wiped out by a sudden driving storm of sleet. A little
while later they cantered up the avenue to Woolhanger and Jane slipped
from her horse with a little sigh of relief.
"You'd better stay and have some tea, Mr. Segerson," she invited.
"John will take your horse and give him a rubdown."
She changed her habit and, forgetting her guest, indulged in the luxury
of a hot bath. She descended some time later to find him sitting in
front of the tea tray in the hall.
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