Then they stood up, for Neville's horse came clattering to the door. He clasped Jane's hand as it hung by her side, and they walked thus to the threshold. Snow was falling; the steps were white with it, and the east wind blew it gently in their faces. Mrs. Swaffham laughed and drew her shawl over her head, and Neville laughed also, and with a cheerful word, leaped to his saddle, his dark figure growing more and more phantom-like through the dim dawn and the white veil of the snow. At the gate he wheeled his horse, and, saluting them, vanished into the gray obscurity, which made all things as if they were not.
"The storm will grow worse, I fear," said Jane as they turned into the house.
"More like than not," answered Mrs. Swaffham; "but he is a dauntless youth, and nothing but good will come to him. Where goes he to-day?"
"As far as he can go. He is in haste to reach Edinburgh, for there is fresh news of rebels from Ireland landing on the Scotch coast. He showed me this report in a copy of the news-letter called The Scottish Dove."
"A badly named news-letter, Jane; the Scotch are never for peace."
"It is intended for a peace paper, mother."
"They are confused in their minds concerning peace. What did it say?"
"That ten ships were leaving Bristol to bring men from Ireland to help Charles Stuart against Cromwell. The Dove asserts, 'the Scotch are ready for speedy action, if God permit, and if advance money be forthcoming;'" and Jane laughed scornfully at the saving clause.
"He did not say much of the Cromwells. I'll warrant, they will forget you in their rising state."
"Far away from it. Mary and Frances sent me many good words, and they are very persuasive with me to come to London and share their state."