CHAPTER XXXIII 474
CHAPTER XXXIII
When Mr . St . John went , it was beginning to snow ; the whirling storm continued all night . The next day a keen wind brought fresh and blinding falls ; by twilight the valley was drifted up and almost impassable . I had closed my shutter , laid a mat to the door to prevent the snow from blowing in under it , trimmed my fire , and after sitting nearly an hour on the hearth listening to the muffled fury of the tempest , I lit a candle , took down " Marmion ," and beginning -
" Day set on Norham ' s castled steep , And Tweed ' s fair river broad and deep , And Cheviot ' s mountains lone ; The massive towers , the donjon keep , The flanking walls that round them sweep , In yellow lustre shone " -
I soon forgot storm in music .
I heard a noise : the wind , I thought , shook the door . No ; it was St . John Rivers , who , lifting the latch , came in out of the frozen hurricane -- the howling darkness -- and stood before me : the cloak that covered his tall figure all white as a glacier . I was almost in consternation , so little had I expected any guest from the blocked-up vale that night .
" Any ill news ?" I demanded . " Has anything happened ?"
" No . How very easily alarmed you are !" he answered , removing his cloak and hanging it up against the door , towards which he again coolly pushed the mat which his entrance had deranged . He stamped the snow from his boots .
" I shall sully the purity of your floor ," said he , " but you must excuse me for once ." Then he approached the fire . " I have had hard work to get here , I assure you ," he observed , as he warmed his hands over the flame . " One drift took me up to the waist ; happily the snow is quite soft yet ."
" But why are you come ?" I could not forbear saying .