In a few moments Hazel also went down, and drank her tea by the red
fire in the kitchen, watching the frost-flowers being softly effaced
from the window as if someone rubbed them away with a sponge. Snow like
sifted sugar was heaped on the sill, and the yard and outbuildings and
fields, the pools and the ricks, all had the dim radiance of antimony.

'Where be the road?' asked Hazel, standing on the door-step and feeling
rather lost. 'How'll I find it?'

'You wunna find it.'

'Oh, but I mun!'

'D'you think Andrew Vessons'll let an 'ooman trapse in the snow when
he's got good horses in stable?' queried Vessons grandly. 'I'll drive
yer.'

'I'm much obleeged, I'm sure,' said Hazel. 'But wunna he know?'

'He'll sleep till noon if I let 'im,' said Andrew.

They drove off in silence, the snow muffling the plunging hoofs. Hazel
looked back as the sky crimsoned for dawn. The house fronted her with a
look of power and patience. She felt that it had not yet done with her.
She wondered how she would feel if Reddin suddenly appeared at his
window. And a tiny traitorous wish slipped up from somewhere in her
heart. She watched the windows till a turn hid the house, and then she
sighed. Almost she wished that Reddin had awakened.