He longed, indeed, to see Phoebe and the child, but it was as though he had wilfully set up some barrier between himself and them, which spoiled his natural pleasure.
Moreover, he was afraid of Phoebe, of her quick jealous love, and of certain passionate possibilities in her character that he had long ago discerned.

If she discovered that he had made a mystery of his marriage--that he had passed in London as unmarried?
It was an ugly and uncomfortable 'if.' Did he shrink from the possible blow to her--or the possible trouble to himself?
Well, she must not find it out! It had been a wretched sort of accident, and before it could do any harm it should be amended.
Suddenly, a sound of angry water.

They were close on the lake, and waves driven by the wind were plashing on the shore.

Across the lake, a light in a house-window shone through the storm, the only reminder of human life amid a dark wilderness of mountains.

Wild sounds crashed through the trees; and accompanying the tumult of water came the rattle of a bitter rain lashing the road, the cart, and their bent shoulders.
'There'll not be a dry stitch on us soon,' said Fenwick, presently, to the young man beside him.
'Aye, it's dampish,' said his companion, cheerfully.
The caution of the adjective set Fenwick grinning.