Outside the sad light waned; the wind sighed and sighed; the dreary rain fell; the trees clashed their boughs dolorously together, and their turbulence deadened the sound of galloping horses. As Dundas sat and gazed at the girl’s intent head, with its fleecy tendrils and its massive coil, the great hounds beside her, all emblazoned by the firelight upon the brown wall near by, with the vast fireplace at hand, the whole less like reality than some artist’s pictured fancy, he knew naught of a sudden entrance, until she moved, breaking the spell, and looked up to meet the displeasure in Roxby’s eyes and the dark scowl on Emory Keenan’s face. ***** That night the wind shifted to the north. Morning found the chilled world still, ice where the water had lodged, all the trees incased in glittering garb that followed the symmetry alike of every bough and the tiniest twig, and made splendid the splintered remnants of the lightning-riven. The fields were laced across from furrow to furrow, in which the frozen water still stood gleaming, with white arabesques which had known a more humble identity as stubble and crab-grass; the sky was slate-colored, and from its sad tint this white splendor gained added values of contrast. When the sun should shine abroad much of the effect would be lost in the too dazzling glister; but the sun did not shine. All day the gray mood held unchanged. Night was imperceptibly sifting down upon all this whiteness, that seemed as if it would not be obscured, as if it held within itself some property of luminosity, when Millicent, a white apron tied over her golden head, improvising a hood, its superfluous fulness gathered in many folds and pleats around her neck, fichu-wise, stood beside the ice-draped fodder-stack and essayed with half-numbed hands to insert a tallow dip into the socket of a lantern, all incrusted and clumsy with previous drippings. “I dun’no’ whether I be a-goin’ ter need this hyar consarn whilst milkin’ or no,” she observed, half to herself, half to Emory, who, chewing a straw, somewhat surlily had followed her out for a word apart. “The dusk ‘pears slow ter-night, but Spot’s mighty late comin’ home, an’ old Sue air fractious an’ contrairy-minded, and feels mighty anxious an’ oneasy ‘boutn her calf, that’s ez tall ez she is nowadays, an’ don’t keer no mo’ ‘bout her mammy ‘n a half-grown human does. I tell her she oughtn’t ter be mad with me, but with the way she brung up her chile, ez won’t notice her now.” She looked up with a laugh, her eyes and teeth gleaming; her golden hair still showed its color beneath the spotless whiteness of her voluminous headgear, and the clear tints of her complexion seemed all the more delicate and fresh in the snowy pallor of the surroundings and the grayness of the evening. “I reckon I’d better take it along,” and once more she addressed herself to the effort to insert the dip into the lantern.