If I did not think that this had something to do with another fact I
have come to the knowledge of since, I don't know that the particulars
of the evening need have been related so minutely. The other fact was
this: that in the grey dawn of the morning, by which time the snow had
ceased, though the wind still blew, Adela saw from her window a weary
rider and wearier horse pass the house, going up the street. The heads
of both were sunk low. You might have thought the poor mare was looking
for something she had lost last night in the snow; and perhaps it was
not all fatigue with Harry Armstrong. Perhaps he was giving thanks that
he had saved two lives instead of losing his own. He was not so
absorbed, however, but that he looked up at the house as he passed, and
I believe he saw the blind of her window drop back into its place.
But how did she come to be looking out just at the moment?
If a lady has not slept all night, and has looked out of window
ninety-nine times before, it is not very wonderful that at the hundredth
time she should see what she was looking for; that is, if the object
desired has not been lost in the snow, or drowned in a moorland pit;
neither of which had happened to Harry Armstrong. Nor is it unlikely
that, after seeing what she has watched for, she will fall too fast
asleep to be roused by the breakfast bell.
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