Principal Trenholme had been gone from Chellaston a day or two on business.

When he returned one evening, he got into his smart little sleigh which was in waiting at the railway station, and was driving himself home, when his attention was arrested and his way blocked by a crowd in front of the hotel.

He did not force a way for his horse, but drew up, listening and looking.

It was a curious picture.

The wide street of snow and the houses were dusky with night, except where light chanced to glow in doorways and windows.