peering into what seemed to me formless night, said: "That's my gate
down yonder."

The last stretch had been the hardest part of the way. The bitter
cold and the heavy going had nearly knocked the wind out of me, and
I could feel the horse's side ticking like a clock under my hand.

"Look here, Frome," I began, "there's no earthly use in your going
any farther-" but he interrupted me: "Nor you neither. There's been
about enough of this for anybody."

I understood that he was offering me a night's shelter at the farm,
and without answering I turned into the gate at his side, and
followed him to the barn, where I helped him to unharness and bed
down the tired horse. When this was done he unhooked the lantern
from the sleigh, stepped out again into the night, and called to me
over his shoulder: "This way."

Far off above us a square of light trembled through the screen of
snow. Staggering along in Frome's wake I floundered toward it, and
in the darkness almost fell into one of the deep drifts against the
front of the house. Frome scrambled up the slippery steps of the
porch, digging a way through the snow with his heavily booted foot.
Then he lifted his lantern, found the latch, and led the way into
the house. I went after him into a low unlit passage, at the back of
which a ladder-like staircase rose into obscurity. On our right a
line of light marked the door of the room which had sent its ray
across the night; and behind the door I heard a woman's voice
droning querulously.