winter’s noon
Only Susan knew of that . She gave him into the charge of her servants , and went out and saddled her horse . Where the wind had drifted the snow on one side , and the road was clear and bare , she rode , and rode fast ; where the soft , deceitful heaps were massed up , she dismounted and led her steed , plunging in deep , with fierce energy , the pain at her heart urging her onwards with a sharp , digging spur . The gray , solemn , winter 's noon was more night-like than the depth of summer 's night ; dim-purple brooded the low skies over the white earth , as Susan rode up to what had been Michael Hurst 's abode while living . It was a small farm-house carelessly kept outside , slatternly tended within . The pretty Nelly Hebthwaite was pretty still ; her delicate face had never suffered from any long-enduring feeling . If anything , its expression was that of plaintive sorrow ; but the soft , light hair had scarcely a tinge of gray ; the wood-rose tint of complexion yet remained , if not so brilliant as in youth ; the straight nose , the small mouth were untouched by time .