Silently rolled the carriage away through the mass of snow, and with difficulty hitting the gateway, disappeared beyond. The story of that drive of only two miles, if related at full, would leave only the wonder that it was accomplished at all. Darkness, deep snowdrifts, that blew down across the way, and the blinding, bewildering effect of the snowstorm, amid the roar and fury of the winds, made every step one of the highest daring, peril, and difficulty. Repeatedly Henry Clavering had to get out, and assist the coachman in forcing his way through some huge track of snow, or in rounding the extremity of some fallen tree, without overturning into a ditch or down some steep descent. But through all Mrs. Heritage sate calm and resigned, expressing no care on her own account, but much concern for Henry Clavering, the coachman, and the poor horses. At length the terrible journey was completed, and Mrs. Heritage, taking off her upper garments, was conducted by Henry Clavering to his father’s chamber. The whole household was up, and wearing the solemn aspect, and moving about with the silent steps, of those who seem to feel that the angel of death is amongst them. As they ascended the ample staircase, hung with the portraits of the ancestors of five hundred years, and embellished with steel casques of rare workmanship, supported on consoles, and suits of ancient, dusky, or more recent and brightly burnished armour, richly inlaid with gold—suits borne valiantly by their owners in fields renowned in English history, the grave Friend said to herself, “No, not all these things can detain those whom the Lord calls. These all, in their places, tell the tale of departures.” The next moment her conductor opened softly a chamber door and as softly closed it after her. He led her forward through the dimly-lighted room to the bed in which lay Sir Emanuel Clavering, pale and wasted, but with a bright eye which turned towards her, watching earnestly her approach, and as she drew near extending his hand to grasp hers. Around were several relatives, whom Mrs. Heritage did not particularly notice. “How kind, how very kind,” he said, warmly clasping her hand. “I could not leave, without seeing you. How very kind to come at such an hour.” His son had fallen on his knees by the bed, and laying his clasped hands on his father’s arm pressed his face against it. In a chair close to the bedhead Mrs. Heritage perceived Thomas Clavering, Sir Emanuel’s brother, the rector, who rose up, took the left hand of Mrs. Heritage, pressed it to his lips passionately, and sat down again without a word. “Give Mrs. Heritage a chair,” said Sir Emanuel; “I want to talk to her a little.” The rector gave her his chair with a rapid courtesy, and fell on his knees by his nephew.