Two miles farther on there was a sudden loud blast of a horn, and
following upon it a great jangle of bells and the tramp of hoofs, and
Madelon knew the Ware and Kingston stage was coming. Presently the
top of the coach and the leaders' heads appeared above the rise of
the road, and Madelon stood well aside to meet it, pressing in among
the crackling icy bushes.

There was another blast of the horn, then a wild rush of sure-footed
horses down the hill, and the coach was past, going towards Ware.
Madelon had caught only a glimpse of the frost-white driver on the
box, a man beside him shrugged up miserably in great-coat and
comforter, with back rounded and head bent against the cold, and some
chilled faces in the windows. Some of the passengers had come from
Wolverton, ten miles past Kingston, and one might freeze to death on
a long stage journey a day like that. There was, perhaps, less danger
in a walk, but there was danger in that should the cold increase, and
it did increase hourly. Madelon's feet grew more and more numb. She
stamped them from time to time, but more from instinct than from any
real appreciation of the discomfort they gave her. So wrought up was
she with zeal that it seemed she might have set out to walk through a
fiery furnace as soon as through this frozen waste, and perhaps have
had her flesh consumed to ashes, with her soul still intent upon its
one purpose. All thought of her own self, save as an instrument to
save the life of the man she loved, was gone out of the girl.
Jealousy was purged out of her; all resentment for faithlessness, all
longing for possession were gone. She bore in her heart the greatest
love of her life as she sped along down the frozen road to Kingston.

The last two miles of the way poor Madelon struggled hard to cover.