Winston drained the glass, and sank limply into a chair.  As yet his face was colorless, though his chilled flesh tingled horribly as the blood once more crept into the surface tissues.  Then he fixed his eyes upon his host as he told his story.  Barrington stood very straight watching his visitor, but his face was drawn, for the resolution which supported him through the day was less noticeable in the early morning, and it was evident now at least that he was an old man carrying a heavy load of anxiety.  Still, as the story proceeded, a little blood crept into his cheeks, while Winston guessed that he found it difficult to retain his grim immobility.

“I am to understand that an attempt to reach the Grange through the snow would have been perilous?” he said.

“Yes,” said Winston quietly.

The older man stood very still regarding him intently, until he said, “I don’t mind admitting that it was distinctly regrettable!”

Winston stopped him with a gesture.  “It was at least unavoidable, sir.  The team would not face the snow, and no one could have reached the Grange alive.”

“No doubt you did your best—­and, as a connection of the family, I am glad it was you.  Still—­and there are cases in which it is desirable to speak plainly—­the affair, which you will, of course, dismiss from your recollection, is to be considered as closed now.”

Winston smiled, and a trace of irony he could not quite repress was just discernible in his voice.  “I scarcely think that was necessary, sir.  It is, of course, sufficient for me to have rendered a small service to the distinguished family which has given me an opportunity; of proving my right to recognition, and neither you, nor Miss Barrington, need have any apprehension that I will presume upon it!”

Barrington wheeled round.  “You have the Courthorne temper, at least, and perhaps I deserved this display of it.  You acted with commendable discretion in coming straight to me—­and the astonishment I got drove the other aspect of the question out of my head.  If it hadn’t been for you, my niece would have frozen.”

“I’m afraid I spoke unguardedly, sir, but I am very tired.  Still, if you will wait a few minutes, I will get the horses out without troubling the hired man.”

Barrington made a little gesture of comprehension, and then shook his head.  “You are fit for nothing further, and need rest and sleep.”

“You will want somebody, sir,” said Winston.  “The snow is very loose and deep.”

He went out, and Barrington, who looked after him with a curious expression in his face, nodded twice as if in approval.  Twenty minutes later, he took his place in the sleigh that slid away from the Grange, which lay a league behind it when the sunrise flamed across the prairie.  The wind had gone, and there was only a pitiless brightness and a devastating cold, while the snow lay blown in wisps, dried dusty