He saw the man on the porch clearly as he stood there with the world in white at his back.

Gilmore instantly recognized him, and his hand came from under the tails of his coat; he closed the door softly.
"What sort of a joke is this, Marsh ?" he demanded in a whisper.
"Joke ?" repeated the lawyer in a thick husky voice, as he took an uncertain step toward the gambler.
"Your coming here at this hour; if it isn't a joke, what is it ?" Gilmore saw that his face was flushed with drink while his eyes shone with a light he had never seen in them before.

He must have been abroad in the storm for some time, for the snow had lodged in the rim of his hat and his shoulders were still white with it; now and again a paroxysm of shivering seized him.
"Whisky chill," thought the gambler.

"Come in, Marsh!" he said, but Langham seemed to draw back instinctively.
"No, I guess not, Andy!" and a sickly pallor overspread his face.
"What's the matter with you ?" demanded Gilmore.
"I want to see you," said the other.

"I can't go home yet." He swayed heavily.