“I am afraid you will be too cold after coming from a warm mill and going with the speed we go.”
He reached under the seat and drew out a light overcoat. He threw it gently over her shoulders, driving, in his masterful way, with the reins in one hand.
He did not speak again until he reached Millwood.
The gate was down, bits of strewn paper, straw and all the debris of things having been moved, were there. The house was dark and empty, and Helen uttered a surprised cry:
“Why, what does all this mean? Oh, has anything happened to them?”
She clung in pallor to Travis's arm.
“Be calm,” he said, “I will explain. They are all safe. They have moved. Let us go in, a moment.”
He drew the mares under a shed and hitched them, throwing blankets over them and unchecking their heads. Then he lifted her out. How strong he was, and how like a limp lily she felt in the grasp of his hands.
The moon flashed out now and then from clouds scurrying fast, adding a ghostliness to the fading light, in which the deserted house stood out amid shadowy trees and weeds tall and dried. The rotten steps and balcony, even the broken bottles and pieces of crockery shone bright in the fading light. Tears started to her eyes:
“Nothing is here—nothing!”