cold wind cut like a knife.

There was a shorter way--this was no time for ceremony or trifling.
He came back to Edna's side saying, "It will be almost impossible to
do it. We must hasten on or perish in this storm. Trust me, this is
best"--and the tall form stooped and lifted Edna from her feet as if
she had been a feather, before she had time to realise his purpose,
then with long strides he waded into the sea of snow. Neither spoke,
but the girl that was borne along in the strong arms did a large
amount of thinking. Despite the danger and the gallantry of her
protector, she could not but feel a little provoked at being snatched
up in that style without her leave, as if she were a bale of cotton;
provoked, too, at herself for getting into such a predicament. If she
only had stayed at home as mother advised. Mother had always told her
she had feared something would happen to her going through those
woods by herself, and here it had come. Then the funny side presented
itself. She wanted to laugh but was afraid to. She stole a glance at
the face below her--a finely-cut face it was, but there was no smile
in the grave eyes; instead, an intense, earnest purpose. When they
came again to the ground where the snow lay on a level, Edna was put
again upon her feet, her hand drawn through Mr. Monteith's arm, and
the two plodded on. It was almost a silent journey; the snow coming
directly in their faces, and the wind fairly taking their breaths,
made it no time for formal talk. Wherever the drifts had thrown up a
barrier she was again lifted and borne through them, but not set down
again, for Edna's protector had discovered that she was almost
overcome by fatigue, try as she might to hide it; and when she said,
"Let me walk now if you please," he answered: "Miss Winters, you are
my prisoner until I place you at your father's, door."