The night was warm with the new-fallen snow, though the stars sparkled coldly.

A fleet of South-westerly rainclouds had been met in mid-sky by a sharp puff from due North, and the moisture had descended like a woven shroud, covering all the land, the house-tops, and the trees.
Young Harry Boulby was at sea, and this still weather was just what a mother's heart wished for him.

The widow looked through her bed-room window and listened, as if the absolute stillness must beget a sudden cry.

The thought of her boy made her heart revert to Robert.

She was thinking of Robert when the muffled sound of a horse at speed caused her to look up the street, and she saw one coming--a horse without a rider.
The next minute he was out of sight.
Mrs.Boulby stood terrified.