“No, I am warm, warming thee.”
The snow fell ceaselessly.
“I am not afraid nor suffering now. No fear, no pain! And thou hast none?”
“None!”
Snow falling—snow falling. The great sea sounding and sounding.
“Richard, there are violets. It is Wander forest, but so changed.”
In the night the snow ceased to fall. Dawn came like a white rose, the shredded petals covering all the earth.
A small and humble House of Carmelites, set upon a cliff a league from Brighthaven, kept a goodly habit. After tempest, after snow on wold, it sent out so many Brothers seeking if there were any harmed. So on this morning as of fine white wool these at last came upon the cliff brow and to a line of furze bushes mounded white. They would have passed them by, for all the earth was heaped with snow and no footprint anywhere save their own deep ones. But a young Brother saw a bit of blue mantle. “Oh, here!”
With their hands they beat away the snow and with their arms they lifted. The man and woman moved feebly. They lived, though in an hour, maybe, they would not have lived. The Brothers bore them to the House and made for them warmth and cheer. Life flowed again, red came to the lip, light to the eyes, strength to the frame. They rested through that day and night in the guest house of the monastery.