“The whistle,” shortly replied his next neighbour, immediately resuming his discourse with the gentleman opposite, while Effingham relapsed into silence.
“We must be nearly an hour behind time!” observed the lawyer, looking at his watch by the light of the lamp.
“Impossible to keep to it—state of the roads—never knew such a season!” was the director’s reply. “You saw the signal as we passed; the rest of the trains will be stopped; no more travelling till the lines are cleared.”
“I hear that a stage-coach in the north had actually to be dug out of the snow,” said the other.
As the observation was uttered, the train burst again into the open daylight, and in a few minutes more the black, hissing engine was letting out its steam at the station of M——.
Effingham sprang out of the carriage, and proceeded immediately to make inquiries as to the direction of Willow Cottage. Hearing that the distance was not great, and judging that it would be less difficult to make his way over the snow on foot than in any conveyance, he left his portmanteau, with directions that it should be forwarded after him, and set out at once for the cottage.
The snow-shower had ceased, and the wind was on his back, therefore, though sinking deep at every step, the strong man made his way through the obstacles which had proved insurmountable to Clemence. His thoughts were so painfully engaged, that those obstacles were scarcely heeded. On he pressed with gloomy resolution, making, however, extremely slow progress, till, on passing a bend of the road, he came in sight of the little lone cottage.
“It is impossible that Clemence can be living in that miserable hovel; and yet, by the description, the cottage can be none other than this!” exclaimed Effingham, surveying the tenement with mingled surprise and displeasure.
At this point the snow lay so thick on the path, that Effingham found it very difficult to proceed; but the goal was near, and by main strength he forced his way over and through the drifted heaps. Suddenly an object on the road before him arrested his attention. Almost close to Clemence’s little gate, a horse, which had fallen floundering amongst the heavy masses, was struggling to his feet; and his rider, whose shaggy great-coat, almost covered with snow gave him the appearance of a Siberian bear, was encouraging the efforts of the animal both by voice and rein. Effingham redoubled his exertions, in order to give aid to the stranger; but before he could reach the spot, horse and horseman had risen from the snow.
“Thank you, sir; no harm done!” said the rider to Effingham, patting the neck of his panting steed. “No danger of broken bones with such a soft bed to receive us. But I don’t see how I’m ever to get back to M——. It’s unlucky, for I’ve plenty of patients there anxious enough to see me. I was sent for in great haste this morning by an old gentleman who lives some way off. I expected to find him in extremity, and it turned out to be nothing worse than a fit of the gout! I wish that I’d prescribed him a three miles’ ride through the snow!” The doctor shook his broad shoulders and laughed.