"Look!" said I, shortly.
Just past the angle of the church the snow swirled forwards—down in the valley here it was rather sleet than snow—lashing the fields through which I had run.
"Where are you going?" said Dorothy, as perhaps with some ostentation I buttoned my coat across my breast.
"To pick up your shoe," said I; and I walked out through the wicket.
"I never met a man of so wicked a perversity," said she from behind me.
CHAPTER XX.
[A CONVERSATION IN WASTDALE CHURCH.]
When I returned with the shoe, I found Dorothy sitting huddled against the church wall in a very doleful attitude.
"Oh!" she cried remorsefully, as she took the shoe from me, "you are drenched through and through, and it is I that am to blame."
"It matters nothing at all," I replied. "I have been out upon the tops of these ridges, and of nights. It would be strange if I were not inured to a little cold."