o falter, and in shame
to turn away. But the small entreating hands found their way, as if by
instinct, to my great projecting palms; and trembled there, and rested
there.

For a little while we lingered thus, neither wishing to move away,
neither caring to look beyond the presence of the other; both alike so
full of hope, and comfort, and true happiness; if only the world would
let us be. And then a little sob disturbed us, and mother tried to make
believe that she was only coughing. But Lorna, guessing who she was,
jumped up so very rashly that she almost set her frock on fire from the
great ash log; and away she ran to the old oak chair, where mother was
by the clock-case pretending to be knitting, and she took the work from
mother's hands, and laid them both upon her head, kneeling humbly, and
looking up.

'God bless you, my fair mistress!' said mother, bending nearer, and then
as Lorna's gaze prevailed, 'God bless you, my sweet child!'

And so she went to mother's heart by the very nearest road, even as she
had come to mine; I mean the road of pity, smoothed by grace, and youth,
and gentleness.

CHAPTER XLV

A CHANGE LONG NEEDED

Jeremy Stickles was gone south, ere ever the frost set in, for the
purpose of mustering forces to attack the Doone Glen. But, of course,
this weather had put a stop to every kind of movement; for even if men
could have borne the cold, they could scarcely be brought to face the
perils of the snow-drifts. And to tell the truth I cared not how long
this weather lasted, so long as we had enough to eat, and could keep
ourselves from freezing. Not only that I did not want Master Stickles
back again, to make more disturbances; but also that the Doones could
not come prowling after Lorna while the snow lay piled between us, with
the surface soft and dry. Of course they would very soon discover where
their lawful queen was, although the track of sledd and snow-shoes had
been quite obliterated by another shower, before the revellers could
have grown half as drunk as they intended. But Marwood de Whichehalse,
who had been snowed up among them (as Gwenny said), after helping
to strip the beacon, that young Squire was almost certain to have
recognised me, and to have told the vile Carver. And it gave me no
little pleasure to think how mad that Carver must be with me, for
robbing him of the lovely bride whom he was starving into matrimony.
However, I was not pleased at all with the prospect