The moment I placed my eye on it, I turned the horse’s head.

“Wrong road,” said I.

The horse had turned off, when I wasn’t minding, and was taking us to Cutler’s Mills.  We tried several ways to set ourselves right by a short cut, but were finally obliged to go all the way back to where we turned off.  In a summer day this would only have been lengthening out a pleasant ride.  But the days were at the shortest.  Snow-flakes fell thicker, and, what was worse, the wind changed, and blew them straight into our faces.  By the time we reached the foot of The Mountains it was nearly dark, and snowing furiously.  I never knew a storm come on faster.  ’Twas a regular, old-fashioned, driving snow-storm, with the wind to the eastward.

Margaret seemed noways down-hearted.  But I feared she would suffer.  I shook the snow from the blanket and wrapped her in it.  I drew it over her head, pinned it under her chin, and tucked it all about her.

’Twas hard pulling for the old horse, but he did well.  I felt uneasy, thinking about the blind roads, which led nowhere but to wood-lots.  ’Twas quite likely that the horse would turn into one of these, and if he did, we should be taken into the very middle of the woods.

It seemed to me we were hours creeping on in the dark, right in the teeth of the storm.  ’Twas an awful night; terribly cold; seemed as if it was window-glass beating against our faces.

By the time I judged we had reached the top of The Mountains, the wind blew a hurricane.  Powerful gusts came tearing through the trees, whirling the snow upon us in great smothering heaps.  The chaise was full.  My hands grew numb, and I began slapping them upon my knees.  Margaret threw off the blanket with a jerk, and seized the reins.

“Stupid!” said she, “to be sitting here wrapped up, letting you freeze!”

But the horse felt a woman’s hand upon the reins, and stopped short.

I urged him on a few yards, but we were in a cleared place, and the snow had drifted.  ’Twas no use.  He was tired out.

“Take him out!” cried Margaret; “we can ride horseback.”

I sprang out, knowing that no time should be lost.  Margaret had not complained.  But I was chilled through.  My feet were like blocks of wood.  I knew she must be half frozen.  It seemed as if I never should do anything with the tackling.  My fingers were numb, and I could hardly stand up, the wind blew so.

With the help of my jack-knife I cleared the horse.  I rode him round to the chaise, and took Margaret up in front of me, then let him take his own course.

I asked Margaret if she was cold.  She said, “Yes,” in a whisper.  Throwing open the blanket had let in the snow upon her, and the sharp wind.  The horse floundered about in the drifts.  Every minute I expected to be thrown off.  Time never seemed so long before.

All at once it occurred to me that Margaret was very quiet.  I asked again if she was cold.  She said, “No; only sleepy.”  I knew in a minute what that meant.  That was a terrible moment.  Freezing as I was, the sweat started out at every pore.  The pretty, delicate thing would die!  And I, great strong man, couldn’t save her!