CHAPTER XVII.
Skating in the Homestead grounds was skating at its best.
A considerable expanse of water, forming a miniature lake, led out into a long winding canal, which took its course under tall over-arching trees and between steep banks, in summer decked with flowering reeds, forget-me-nots, and ferns.
Laline had not skated since she lived in the country with her mother as a little child; but Wallace Armstrong excelled in skating, as he did in all outdoor exercises, and once he had fitted to her feet one of several pairs of skates he had provided, and had affixed his own as well, the two started, he grasping both her hands in support and teaching her to bend and sway her supple figure as they moved over the ice together.
The keen air blew in their faces, the whirr of their skates and here and there the snapping of a twig under the weight of snow were the only sounds that came to them; across the western sky red bands of light showed where the sun was sinking to rest; while over a long stretch of sparkling white snow they could see through the bare tree-branches the comfortable lights shine out of the windows of the house to beckon them to warmth and shelter.
But Laline and Wallace were on enchanted ground; they seemed no longer two persons, but moved by one and the same spirit as they sped hand in hand over the frozen lake. Faster and faster they flew, until they seemed to leave the beaten wind behind them and to glow with a warmth that was kindlier than sunshine. It was as though they could not tire; the magnetic effect of shoulder touching shoulder, hand clasped in hand, spurred them ever to fresh efforts. Not until six o'clock did Laline remember that she was tired. Then suddenly her ankle gave way; she slipped, and would have fallen had not Wallace caught her in his arms.
"I am tired," she said, clasping both hands round his arm as she smiled up in his face. "I never thought of it until this minute, because it was so perfectly beautiful. But I am really very tired."
He reproached himself strenuously for having allowed her to do too much, and, tenderly assisting her to a seat, removed her skates and led her to the house. In the drawing-room a lamp was burning under a shade of crimson silk, throwing a ruddy glow over the room, and the leaping firelight shone on the tea-things spread on a small table near its cheerful blaze.
"You must want dinner now, my poor, dear child!" exclaimed Wallace, ruefully. "We ought to have had tea an hour and a half ago, only we forgot all about it."
"Tea is just exactly what I want," she declared—"tea by the fire! And then I must be rushing back as fast as I can go. What will Mrs. Vandeleur say?"