Women, like nature, have many moods and many aspects to
express them. The hot fit had passed, and the cold fit was on her now.
Her face, except for the dark hollows round the eyes, was white as
winter, and her heart was cold as winter's ice.
Presently her father came in.
"What a gale," he said, "what a gale! Upon my word I began to think
that the old place was coming down about our ears, and the wreck among
the trees is dreadful. I don't think there can have been such a wind
since the time of King Charles I., when the top of the tower was blown
right off the church. You remember I was showing you the entry about
it in the registers the other day, the one signed by the parson and
old Sir James de la Molle. The boy who has just come up with the
letters tells me he hears that poor old Mrs. Massey's summer-house on
the top of Dead Man's Mount has been blown away, which is a good
riddance for Colonel Quaritch. Why, what's the matter with you, dear?
How pale you look!"
"The gale kept me awake. I got very little sleep," answered Ida.
"And no wonder. Well, my love, you haven't wished me a merry Christmas
yet. Goodness knows we want one badly enough. There has not been much
merriment at Honham of late years."
"A merry Christmas to you, father," she said.
Pages:
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478