I did not dare trust myself to enter into particulars, even in thought, and with a very resolute voice, telling Kitty I would come up immediately after breakfast, and see if there was anything more for her to do, I went downstairs. The first floor presented signs of an exciting stir; there was a very unusual bustle and movement in the quiet hall--a trunk and a valise stood at the front door, a pile of cloaks and wrappers lay beside them; Thomas' long limbs were animated with unwonted energy, Mrs. Roberts bustled in and out of pantries, and to and fro through side-doors and entries, in a very startling manner; Sylvie was more raving distracted than ever--flew unmeaningly up and down stairs--took the wrong thing to the wrong place--irritated everybody, and was in the way generally. Mr. Rutledge, in the library, gave audience to farmer, gardener, groom, and carpenter--delivered orders--paid bills--settled accounts--the one undisturbed member of the commonwealth. It was evident that the sudden marching orders had taken them all by surprise, and unsettled most of their brains. Stephen, alone, I was happy to notice, seemed to preserve in some degree the possession of his reasoning faculties, and did not "haze" to the same extent as the others. Kitty, I thought, comes honestly by her _sang froid._ I stood some minutes by the hall window gazing out upon the dreary winter landscape, the dull sky, the brown bare trees, the hard grey earth, ashes of roses in hue, the nether millstone in hardness. It had been the coldest night of the season, the water that stood in the narrow carriage-tracks and in the little crescents that the horses' hoofs had made, was frozen hard; the trees, the hedges, looked as if they were, too--so still and stiff they stood. Not a bit of wind was stirring, but the temperature was evidently moderating. "Softening down for snow," Stephen remarked, as he passed out; "you'll not have it so cold for your journey, Miss. It's too bad that you're going, such fine sleighing as we have at Rutledge a little later in the season. You should stay and enjoy it, Miss." "I wish, indeed I could, Stephen," I said, with great sincerity. "It's a long while since I've had a good sleigh-ride. The roads must be splendid for it here, so broad and clear." "Beautiful, Miss; packed smooth, and hard as the house floor, and as dry as sand. You might walk over 'em in your thin slippers, and never wet your feet. And the snow lays sometimes better than a month without a rain or a thaw, the weather as clear as a bell and as cold as Christmas-thermometer down to nobody knows where, and nobody minds, after they're used to it. But maybe you're afraid of the cold?" "Not I! It's the very thing I like. I'd give anything for a ride behind those bays, wrapped up to the eyes in furs, on the coldest day Rutledge ever saw. I know they must go like the very wind when there's snow on the ground; don't they?"