Half an hour later she was on the way. A snow-storm whirled through the air so thick that it seemed as if white towels were flapping over the sleigh windows. The fine frozen flakes, as hard as bullets, pelted against the glass as if huge shovelfuls of white sand were being hurled against it The voice of the storm whistled uncannily through the chinks. Yet it was cosy and warm underneath the fur rugs, and the twilight of the confined space was conducive to dreaming. It seemed to her as if a web as soft as velvet was being spun closer and closer around her, shutting her off from all the vexations of life. She released her cramped hold on the precious pocket-book, and burying her head in the farthest corner, thought only good and noble things about him. The sleigh flew through the air like a bird, only as it inclined towards the stream did it begin to bump a little. She looked up in some alarm at the miniature icebergs with clouds of snow dancing above them on either side of the track which had now been made across the solid ice. When she arrived in Münsterberg and the chance of sending off the pocket-book was deliciously within reach she became undecisive again. All she had to do was to say to the young man at Hoffmann's, "Pack this for me and address it to Herr von Sellenthin," and the thing would be done. As she was reflecting this she beheld, with a start, _his_ sleigh a few yards in front of her. She recognised him instantly, without his turning round. He wore a pea-jacket and high oilskin boots. The winter cap which grandmamma had knitted him out of grey fleecy wool was drawn over his ears. A hill of driven snow rested between his shoulders. Hertha was not in the least prepared to meet him in Münsterberg. It was true she had not seen him at home before she came out, but that was nothing extraordinary, because he was hardly ever to be seen there, except at dinner, when he still joined the family party to eat in silence what was handed him, and then to hurry away. Now he spotted his own horses. "Hulloa! who's that?" he cried to the coachman, who stopped while he opened the door and looked in. "Oh, it's you, child, is it?" he said, smiling wearily and sadly, but filling her with delight. His beard was encrusted with snow, and thawing drops ran over his forehead and cheeks. "Have you still got purchases to make for this evening?" "Yes." "Ah, that's all right. I would drive with you only I've got my own turn out. I have business at the Prussian Crown. Take care of yourself, child, and don't get cold." He gave her his hand and shut the sleigh door. The horses moved on and he vanished. Hertha leaned back in her corner and shut her eyes tight. She was quite decided now not to send the pocket-book. He had only to smile and all her sulks were gone. Ah! she must think of something very nice to do for him now, something extra nice.