that gathers over me, will yield to
neither hope nor reason.'

'That does not surprise me,' said Mr Garland; 'it is a natural
consequence of the events you have recalled; of this dreary time and
place; and above all, of this wild and dismal night. A dismal night,
indeed! Hark! how the wind is howling!'

CHAPTER 70

Day broke, and found them still upon their way. Since leaving home,
they had halted here and there for necessary refreshment, and had
frequently been delayed, especially in the night time, by waiting for
fresh horses. They had made no other stoppages, but the weather
continued rough, and the roads were often steep and heavy. It would be
night again before they reached their place of destination.

Kit, all bluff and hardened with the cold, went on manfully; and,
having enough to do to keep his blood circulating, to picture to
himself the happy end of this adventurous journey, and to look about
him and be amazed at everything, had little spare time for thinking of
discomforts. Though his impatience, and that of his fellow-travellers,
rapidly increased as the day waned, the hours did not stand still. The
short daylight of winter soon faded away, and it was dark again when
they had yet many miles to travel.

As it grew dusk, the wind fell; its distant moanings were more low and
mournful; and, as it came creeping up the road, and rattling covertly
among the dry brambles on either hand, it seemed like some great
phantom for whom the way was narrow, whose garments rustled as it
stalked along. By degrees it lulled and died away, and then it came on
to snow.

The flakes fell fast and thick, soon covering the ground some inches
deep, and spreading abroad a solemn stillness. The rolling wheels were
noiseless, and the sharp ring and clatter of the horses' hoofs, became
a dull, muffled tramp. The life of their progress seemed to be slowly
hushed, and something death-like to usurp its place.

Shading his eyes from the falling snow, which froze upon their lashes
and obscured his sight, Kit often tried to catch the earliest glimpse
of twinkling lights, denoting their approach to some not distant town.
He could descry objects enough at such times, but none correctly. Now,
a tall church spire appeared in view, which presently became a tree, a
barn, a shadow on the ground, thrown on it by their own bright lamps.
Now, there were horsemen, foot-passengers, carriages, going on before,
or meeting them in n