“Our first bit of luck,” he whispered. “They have gone for the summer!”
They moved less cautiously now, but not until they reached the dining room and saw the covered chairs and drawn curtains did they feel fully assured. He thrust aside the portières and noted that the blinds were closed and the windows boarded. They could move quite safely now.
The mere sense of being under cover––of no longer feeling the beat of the rain upon them––was in itself a soul-satisfying relief. But there was still the dank cold of their soggy clothes against the body. They must have heat; and he moved on to the living rooms above. He pushed open a door and found himself in a large room of heavy oak, not draped like the others. He might have hesitated had it not been for the sight of a large fireplace directly facing him. When he saw that it was piled high with wood and coal ready to be lighted, he would have braved an army to reach it. Crossing the room, he thrust his candle into the kindling. The flames, as though surprised at being summoned, hesitated a second and then leaped hungrily to their meal. Wilson thrust his cold hands almost into the fire itself as he crouched over it.
“Come here,” he called over his shoulder. “Get some of this quickly.”
She huddled close to him and together they let their cold bodies drink in the warm air. It tingled at 17 their fingers, smarted into their faces, and stung their chests.
“Nearer! Nearer!” he urged her. “Let it burn into you.”
Their garments sent out clouds of steam and sweated pools to the tiles at their feet; but still they bathed in the heat insatiably. He piled on wood until the flames crackled out of sight in the chimney and flared into the room. He took her by the shoulders and turned her round and round before it as one roasts a goose. He took her two hands and rubbed them briskly till they smarted; she laughed deliciously the while, and the color on her cheeks deepened. But in spite of all this they couldn’t get very far below the surface. He noticed the dripping fringe of her skirts and her water-logged shoes.
“This will never do,” he said. “You’ve got to get dry––clear to your bones. Somehow a woman doesn’t look right––wet. She gets so very wet––like a kitten. I’m going foraging now. You keep turning round and round.”
“Till I’m brown on the outside?”
“Till I come back and see if you’re done.”