She did not even glance at him as she went along.

Her face glowed all over, red as a rose with the freezing wind; she wrapped her cloak instinctively tight around her, and walked a little stiffly, as if her feet might be somewhat numb; but there was in her fixed dark eyes no recognition of anything but some end she had in view beyond his ken.
The man stopped and looked seriously after her, and past her down the road.

"Wonder what she's up to!" he muttered.

Then he struggled on after his oxen, who plodded along with goat's-beards of their frozen breath hanging from their jaws.
Two miles farther on there was a sudden loud blast of a horn, and following upon it a great jangle of bells and the tramp of hoofs, and Madelon knew the Ware and Kingston stage was coming.

Presently the top of the coach and the leaders' heads appeared above the rise of the road, and Madelon stood well aside to meet it, pressing in among the crackling icy bushes.
There was another blast of the horn, then a wild rush of sure-footed horses down the hill, and the coach was past, going towards Ware.
Madelon had caught only a glimpse of the frost-white driver on the box, a man beside him shrugged up miserably in great-coat and comforter, with back rounded and head bent against the cold, and some chilled faces in the windows.