And thus one vassal, still loyal, found her as the servant ushered him quite unceremoniously into the bright little parlor, startling her for a moment as he came forward, a few wisps of snow still clinging to his brown curls, and melting and dripping down upon his shoulders in the pleasant warmth diffused around.
She glanced at him, shrank back an instant, then came forward with rising color and extended hand.
"Captain Clendenon! This is indeed a pleasant and very welcome surprise."
He bowed low over the slim white hand, murmured some inarticulate words of greeting, and stooped to replace the shawl that still lay unheeded where she had dropped it on the floor.
"Allow me," he said, with grave courtesy, and folded it with his one arm very carefully, though perhaps awkwardly, about her shoulders.
Then a momentary embarrassing silence ensued, during which he had seated himself in a chair indicated by her, and opposite the one into which she had languidly fallen.
In that silence she glanced a little curiously at the face whose dark gray eyes had not yet lifted themselves to hers. She had not seen him in some months before, and he looked a little altered now—somewhat thinner, a trifle more serious, but still frank and noble, and with an indescribable respect and sympathy in the clear, honest eyes that lifted just then and met her glance full.
"I must ask your pardon for intruding on the entire seclusion that you preserve, Mrs. Winans," he said, with the slight pleasant smile she remembered so well. "The fact that I am your husband's lawyer, and that I come on business, must plead my excuse."
She bowed, then rallied from her surprise sufficiently to say that an old and valued friend like Captain Clendenon needed no excuse to make him welcome in her home.