Excerpt from Rhoda Fleming, Vol. 2 of 3: A Story
The night was warm with, the new-fallen snow, though the stars sparkled coldly. A fleet of south-westerly rain-clouds 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 mothers heart wished for him. The widow looked through her bedroom window and listened, as if the absolute stillness must beget a sudden cry. The thought of her boy made her heart revert to Robert.
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