He stood up, his vigorous frame starting into a nobler manhood, with the consciousness of right,--with a willed assurance, that, the first victory gained, the others should follow.
It was late; he must go on; he had not meant to sit idling by the road-side.

He went through the fields, his heavy step crushing the snow, a dry heat in his blood, his eye intent, still, until he came within sight of the farm-house; then he went on, cool and grave, in his ordinary port.
The house was quite dark; only a light in one of the lower windows,--the library, he thought.

The broad field he was crossing sloped down to the house, so that, as he came nearer, he saw the little room quite plainly in the red glow of the fire within, the curtains being undrawn.

He had a keen eye; did not fail to see the marks of poverty about the place, the gateless fences, even the bare room with its worn and patched carpet: noted it all with a triumphant gleam of satisfaction.

There was a black shadow passing and repassing the windows: he waited a moment looking at it, then came more slowly towards them, intenser heats smouldering in his face.