An unnerving self-pity overwhelmed her.
In the old brown-and-gold drawing-room of the Fenton homestead her uncle and aunt were perhaps nodding over their evening conversation. They would be missing her presence. Suppose they dreamed of her present plight?
She put on her coat and wrapped her fur tightly about her.
A barn lantern hung inside the kitchen door.
Lighting it, Tory once more opened the front door of the little House in the Woods.
Her lamp went out, she was enveloped in a spiral column of swirling snow.
On the path and just below the catalpa tree Tory seemed to see a tall figure shining in white and silver.
She knew of course this was an illusion, nevertheless, she banged the door shut with all the force at her command.
Then, as sleep appeared out of the question, piling the fire with logs, once more she sat down, now to watch and wait for the coming of morning.