’We shall have no snow worth talking about before we are safely housed at Fellside, and then we can defy the elements,’ said Lady Maulevrier, coolly.

They slept that night at Oxenholme, and started next morning, under a clean, bright sky, intending to take luncheon at Windermere, and to be at home by nightfall.

But by the time they got to Windermere the sky had changed to a dark grey, and the people at the hotel prophesied a heavy fall before night, and urged the Earl and Countess to go no further that day.  The latter part of the road to Fellside was rough and hilly.  If there should be a snowstorm the horses would never be able to drag the carriage up the steepest bit of the way.  Here, however, Lord Maulevrier’s obstinacy came into play.  He would not endure another night at an hotel so near his own house.  He was sick to death of travelling, and wanted to be at rest among comfortable surroundings.

‘It was murder to bring me here,’ he said to his wife.  ’If I had gone to Hastings I should have been a new man by this time.  As it is I am a great deal worse than when I landed.’

Everyone at the hotel noticed his lordship’s white and haggard looks.  He had been known there as a young man in the bloom of health and strength, and his decay was particularly obvious to these people.

‘I saw death in his face,’ the landlord said, afterwards.

Every one, even her ladyship’s firmness and good sense, gave way before the invalid’s impatience.  At three in the afternoon they left the hotel, with four horses, to make the remaining nineteen miles of the way in one stage.  They had not been on the road half an hour before the snow began to fall thickly, whitening everything around them, except the lake, which showed a dark leaden surface at the bottom of the slope along the edge of which they were travelling.  Too sullen for speech, Lord Maulevrier sat back in his corner, with his sable cloak drawn up to his chin, his travelling cap covering head and ears, his eyes contemplating the whitening world with a weary anger.  His wife watched the landscape as long as she could, but the snow soon began to darken all the air, and she could see nothing save that blank blinding fall.

Half-way to Fellside there was a point where two roads met, one leading towards Grasmere, the other towards the village of Great Langdale, a cluster of humble habitations in the heart of the hills.  When the horses had struggled as far as this point, the snow was six inches deep on the road, and made a thick curtain around them as it fell.  By this time the Earl had dozed off to sleep.

He woke an hour after, let down the window, which let in a snow-laden gust, and tried to pierce the gloom without.

‘As black as Erebus!’ he exclaimed, ’but we ought to be close at home by this time.  Yes, thank God, there are the lights.’

The carriage drew up a minute afterwards, and Steadman came to the door.