‘You have been very good to me, and very patient with me, Magdalen. You’ll get your reward, I hope.’
Then he turned on his heel, rammed his cap on to his head, and plunged into the darkness and the snow, which drove blindingly in his face.
He had chosen to walk—persisted in walking, perhaps with some idea of cooling, in the wintry blast, the fever of his hot heart; for it was hot, and it beat and tossed with restless pain.
‘The biggest throw I ever made,’ he muttered to himself, as he passed out at the Balder Hall gate, and emerged in the tempest of the open road. ‘Will she be staunch, I wonder? I believe she will. We’ve been driven together, if ever two lost souls were, and——’
Here he was obliged to give his undivided attention to keeping the right road. Thorsgarth was but three miles away from Balder Hall, even by the roundabout way of the high road. It had been a little after eleven when Otho had turned away from Miss Strangforth’s door; it was nearly two when at last Gilbert let him in at the side door of his own house; and he entered, pallid, gasping, and scarce able to stand, covered all over with snow, and shading his blinded eyes from the light.
‘Good heavens, man! where have you been; and what have you been doing? I was just thinking of rousing the house, and sending relays of men after you, with lanterns.’
‘I’ve been doing my courting,’ said Otho, pulling off his overcoat, and shaking himself; ‘and since winning the lady, I’ve had to do battle with the storm. Have you got a good fire in there, and something to drink? It’s not weather for a dog to be out in.’
‘Which lady have you been honouring with your proposals?’ inquired Gilbert drily.
‘Which? Why, there is only one, and that’s Magdalen.’
‘Oh! It is a pity you did not manage to let other people understand that as clearly as you seem to do yourself.’