in the road outside, and that'll be maybe six miles."
"Six miles—in this snow!" I exclaimed. "I'll be———"
"There's nothing nearer," she made haste to say. "There's no house at all between this and Middleton. And I'd advise you to be getting along, for the snow'll be far worse ere the night's fallen than what it is, and the road is not———"
The voice of a girl, clear, musical, and with a touch of masterfulness in it, broke in on the woman's harsh accents.
"Tibbie! What is it?—who is there?"
The woman frowned. But—involuntarily—she opened the door wider. I saw then that she was standing in a square stone hall of very small dimensions, and that from her right hand stone steps, obviously set in a newel stair, gave access to the upper regions of this queer old place. And I saw more—I saw a pair of slim and shapely ankles, in smart stockings and shoes; the edge of a dainty skirt, and the projection of the stair out of all else.
"It's a young man, miss, wants to know his
