Indeed, before Mary's frightened whisper he had not intended to do
more than creep down into the pantry and watch the dog at close
range; now it was as though Mary had challenged him. He knew that it
was the most wicked thing that he could do--to go out into the snow
without a coat and in his slippers. He might even, according to Aunt
Amy, die of it, but as death at present meant no more to him than a
position of importance and a quantity of red- currant jelly and
chicken, THAT prospect did not deter him. He left the room so
quietly that Helen did not even lift her eyes.

Then upon the landing he waited and listened. The house had all the
lighted trembling dusk of the snowy afternoon; there was no sound
save the ticking of the clocks. He might come upon the Jampot at any
moment, but this was just the hour when she liked to drink her cup
of tea in the kitchen; he knew from deep and constant study every
movement of her day. Fortune favoured him. He reached without
trouble the little dark corkscrew servants' staircase. Down this he
crept, and found himself beside the little gardener's door. Although
here there was only snow-lit dusk, he felt for the handle of the
lock, found it, turned it, and was, at once, over the steps, into
the garden.

Here, with a vengeance, he felt the full romance and danger of his
enterprise. It was horribly cold; he had been in the nursery for two
whole days, wrapped up and warm, and now the snowy world seemed to
leap up at him and drag him down as though into an icy well.
Mysterious shadows hovered over the garden; the fountain pointed
darkly against the sky, and he could feel from the feathery touches
upon his face that the snow had begun to fall again.