“Young scamp!” exclaimed Amelia; “such a tall, handsome fellow to, who would have believed it of him?”

“Well, Laura dear, when I saw St. George come in, I was so frightened that I fainted.  Dorothea was quite calm—­quite still—­she had been so all the time.  It makes me cry to think what she must have felt, dear sweet thing; but such a day as that one was, Laura, I cannot describe, and you cannot imagine.  The whole country was completely snowed up.  St. George had telegraphed to John Mortimer, from London, to be at our house, if possible, by four o’clock, for something had gone wrong, and his horses, because of the deep drift, overturned the phaeton into a ditch.  John rolled out, but managed to wade on to us; he was half covered with snow when I came down just as light was failing, and saw him in the hall stamping about and shaking the snow out of his pockets and from his hair.  I heard him sighing and saying how sad it was, for we thought Val must be ill, till Giles came up to him, and in two minutes told him what had happened.  Oh I never saw anybody in such a fury as he put himself into!  I was quite surprised.  He almost stuttered with rage.  What was the use either of his storming at Giles, as if he could help it, or indeed any of us?  And then sister was very much hurt, for she came hurrying into the hall, and began to cry; she does so like, poor thing, that people should take things quietly.  And presently, grinding and crunching through the snow, with four horses, came dear old Grand, done up in comforters, in the close carriage.  He had driven round the other way; he knew something was wrong, and he came into the hall with such trembling hands, thinking Val was dying or perhaps dead.  And then what a passion he got into, too, when John told him, it’s no use at all my trying to explain to you; he actually cried, and when he had dried his eyes, he shook his fists, and said he was ashamed of his name.

“It was very disagreeable for us, as you may suppose.  It was dusk before sister and St. George could get them to think of what we had to do.  To send and stop the bells from ringing early the next morning; to stop several people who were coming by rail to dinner that day, and expecting to sleep in the house on account of the unusual weather; to let Dick A’Court know, and the other clergyman, who were to have married them; and to prevent as many people as possible from coming to the breakfast, or to the church; to stop the men who were making a path to it through the drift—­Oh you can’t think what a confusion there presently was, and we had four or five hired flys in the stable, ready to fetch our friends, and take them to church, too; and there was such a smell all over, of roasting things and baking things.  Well, Laura, off we all set into the kitchen, and sent off the hired men with the flys, and every servant we had in the house, male or female—­and Grand’s men too—­excepting sister’s little maid to attend to Dorothea.