“And I am in mortal terror already!” cried his wife. “The skydsgut says we go down a tremendously steep descent, and that a dreadful storm is coming. Thunder frightens me to death.”
Consolation was offered, but failed to soothe. A livid shadow which touched the snow set her trembling. She desired Miss Dalrymple to take Colonel Martyn’s place by her side, then looked imploringly at Wareham.
“I am ashamed—it is wretched to be such a coward—but Mr Grey is with Mrs Ravenhill—would you mind coming close behind in Anne’s carriole, Mr Wareham? The comfort that it would be!”
Wareham perceived that his attendance was resolved upon. He made a slight demur.
“Of course if I can be of any use—”
“The greatest! You would not condemn me to stay on this dreary spot until Colonel Martyn has finished his survey?”
“Ought we to leave him behind?”
“Ought he to have deserted us? Pray let us start. Anne, beg Mr Wareham not to delay. There, I am sure I heard thunder!”
“One moment.” Wareham made a quick step to where Millie stood, a little aloof.
“You bear?” he said, in a low voice. “Are you alarmed?”