Amos had clothed himself warmly, for the cold was now severe. His great-coat, also, which he had gathered close round him, contained in its ample pockets some cakes, oranges, and sweeties—a stock of which he always kept on hand in his own room for the benefit of his niece and nephew whenever he might happen to visit them at the cottage. On the present occasion, it is true, he had no expectation of meeting the children, but only their mother; but he brought these little luxuries with him notwithstanding, as they might perhaps be welcome to his poor sister, who was not likely to be furnished with more than the bare necessaries of life by the man who, though bound to care for her comfort, would no doubt wrench from her every penny he was able.
With noiseless tread, then, did Prince the pony carry his young master along the dazzling white roads, shaking his ears and his head from time to time, as though in wonder at what could have induced his owner to bring him out so early. Amos had, however, not neglected the poor animal, but had given him a good feed before starting, having himself also made such an early meal as the pantry could provide him. So the two jogged quietly on; and whatever misgivings the young man might have from time to time, these were more than outweighed by the abiding conviction that he was on the path of love and duty, and might therefore expect to be guided and preserved by Him to whom he had committed his cause. Still, there was something overawing in the solitude of that early ride. Not a person did he meet as he threaded his way through the lanes. The moon was some days past the full, and shone with almost undiminished light on the sparkling crystals of snow. Spikes of hoar-frost bristled on the branches of the trees, and here and there a long gaunt group of icicles, dependent from an overhanging rock, gleamed and flashed in the pale light as he passed along.
And now, when he had accomplished some three miles—which was about half the distance to the heath—he emerged from a winding road which had led him through a copse on to high ground, from which he had an almost panoramic view of the surrounding country. He checked his pony and looked about him. How exquisitely fair and pure was that landscape, one vast expanse of spotless white! Not a breath of wind was now stirring, and, struggling against the moonlight, the first flushes of a winter’s dawn crept up along the far-off eastern sky. Everything spoke of peace and purity. God’s hand had clothed the earth, the trees with a stainless robe of majestic beauty studded with countless flashing gems. Man’s works were hidden or but dimly seen here and there, with all their imperfections withdrawn from sight under that snowy veil. And man himself was absent. An all-absorbing sense of the nearness of God stole over the young traveller’s heart, so deep, so unearthly as to be almost painful, but, oh, so full of blessedness! What should make him afraid, with God so near? And then there unfolded themselves to his memory the words, “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.” Amos bowed his head, and remained wrapt for a while in holy and happy meditation.
But he had a work before him, and must move on. At last he reached Marley Heath. Hitherto he had seen no human being, nor indeed any living thing except a hare which once crossed his path. The heath was extensive, and had many pathways through it. All, however, were now more or less covered with snow, though here and there the wind had exposed a bare spot, and a large pond on one side glowed in the light of the now rising sun. Riding slowly across the wide common, Amos looked for some time in vain for the person whom he was to meet, and it was almost with a feeling of relief that he contemplated the possibility of no one appearing. The air was sharp and clear now, and, as he gazed on all sides, an inward shrinking from the proposed meeting came over him; and then again the consciousness that he was on duty’s path nerved him for whatever might be before him. He had not long to wait. First he heard the far-off faint barking of a dog, and in a few minutes afterwards a horseman made his appearance coming up on to the heath from the opposite quarter to that by which he himself had reached it. The stranger was manifestly in no hurry, but allowed his horse, a big, gaunt, and seedy-looking animal, to take its own time, which clearly was not a very rapid one. The costume of the new-comer was in keeping with the appearance of his steed, being ample but considerably the worse for wear. As the two riders slowly approached each other, Amos recognised his brother-in-law, Mr Orlando Vivian,—there could be no doubt about it. A theatrical salute on the other’s part was answered by Amos with a quiet inclination of his head.
“Your servant, friend,” then said Mr Vivian in a free and easy manner; “a fine winter’s morning you bring with you, though I think we shall have more snow.”
“Good morning,” returned Amos, not knowing what else to say, and feeling far from comfortable.
When they had remained facing each other for a minute, during which the dark malicious eyes of the player sent a shudder through his companion, the former said, “You are come to see your sister, I presume; at any rate this meeting is clearly by appointment made for that purpose. Shall we proceed?”
“Yes,” replied Amos, but with some hesitation in his tone of voice.
“Ah, I understand,” said the other; “you were expecting to be conducted to a tête-à-tête. You didn’t anticipate meeting a brother-in-law as well as a sister,—is it not so?”
Amos hardly knew what to reply, for the bantering air and words of his companion filled him with disgust and repugnance.—“Oh, I see it all—it’s perfectly natural,” said Mr Vivian sarcastically; “but set your mind at ease on that point, Mr Huntingdon. As soon as you reach the house you will cease to be troubled with my company; nay, I shall not go with you beyond the door.”