As yet his
face was colorless, though his chilled flesh tingled horribly as the
blood once more crept into the surface tissues. Then he fixed his eyes
upon his host as he told his story. Barrington stood very straight
watching his visitor, but his face was drawn, for the resolution which
supported him through the day was less noticeable in the early morning,
and it was evident now at least that he was an old man carrying a heavy
load of anxiety. Still, as the story proceeded, a little blood crept
into his cheeks, while Winston guessed that he found it difficult to
retain his grim immobility.
"I am to understand that an attempt to reach the Grange through the
snow would have been perilous?" he said.
"Yes," said Winston quietly.
The older man stood very still regarding him intently, until he said,
"I don't mind admitting that it was distinctly regrettable!"
Winston stopped him with a gesture. "It was at least unavoidable, sir.
The team would not face the snow, and no one could have reached the
Grange alive."
"No doubt you did your best--and, as a connection of the family, I am
glad it was you. Still--and there are cases in which it is desirable
to speak plainly--the affair, which you will, of course, dismiss from
your recollection, is to be considered as closed now."
Winston smiled, and a trace of irony he could not quite repress was
just discernible in his voice. "I scarcely think that was necessary,
sir. It is, of course, sufficient for me to have rendered a small
service to the distinguished family which has given me an opportunity;
of proving my right to recognition, and neither you, nor Miss
Barrington, need have any apprehension that I will presume upon it!"
Barrington wheeled round.
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