Upon this he groaned and lay quiet.
Now there was a foot of snow on the ground, and it melted about Griffith's hot temples and flashed face, and mightily refreshed and revived him.
He sat up and kissed Kate's letter, and Love began to get the upper hand of Liquor a little.
Finally he got up, and half strutted, half staggered to the turret, and stood under Kate's window.
The turret was covered with luxuriant ivy, and that ivy with snow. So the glass of the window was set in a massive frame of winter; but a bright fire burned inside the room, and this set the panes all aflame. It was cheery and glorious to see the window glow like a sheet of transparent fire in its deep frame of snow; but Griffith could not appreciate all that. He stood there a sorrowful man. The wine he had taken to drown his despair had lost its stimulating effect, and had given him a heavy head, but left him his sick heart.
He stood and puzzled his drowsy faculties why Kate had sent for him. Was it to bid him good-bye for ever; or to lessen his misery by telling him she would not marry another? He soon gave up cudgeling his enfeebled brains; Kate was a superior being to him, and often said things, and did things, that surprised him. She had sent for him, and that was enough; he should see her, and speak to her once more, at all events. He stood, alternately nodding and looking up at her glowing room, and longing for its owner to appear. But, as Bacchus had inspired him to mistake eight o'clock for nine, and as she was not a votary of Bacchus, she did not appear; and he stood there till he began to shiver.
The shadow of a female passed along the wall, and Griffith gave a great start. Then he heard the fire poked. Soon after he saw the shadow again; but it had a large servant's cap on; so his heart had beaten high for Mary or Susan. He hung his head disappointed; and, holding on by the ivy, fell a nodding again.
By-and-by one of the little casements was opened softly. He looked up, and there was the right face peering out.
Oh, what a picture she was in the moonlight and the firelight! They both fought for that fair head, and each got a share of it: the full moon's silvery beams shone on her rose-like cheeks and lilyfield them a shade, and lit her great grey eyes and made them gleam astoundingly; but the ruby firelight rushed at her from behind, and flowed over her golden hair, and reddened and glorified it till it seemed more than mortal. And all this in a very picture-frame of snow.
Imagine, then, how sweet and glorious she glowed on him who loved her, and who looked at her perhaps for the last time.