CHAPTER XVIII.
"IT'S AN ILL WIND THAT BLOWS NOBODY GOOD." They journeyed northward very slowly, stopping for a few days at all the great cities, so that October was gone and part of November when they reached Montreal.

There they lingered a week, and then began the last stage of their journey home.
It was a desolate afternoon, near the middle of that most desolate month, November, when Captain Danton and his daughter stepped into the railway-fly at St.Croix, and were driven, as fast as the spavined old nag would go, to Danton Hall.

A desolate afternoon, with a low leaden sky threatening snow, and earth like iron with hard black frost.

A wretched complaining wind that made your nerves ache, worried the half-stripped trees, and now and then a great snowflake whirled in the dull grey air.

The village looked silent and deserted as they drove through it, and a melancholy bell was slowly tolling, tolling, tolling all the way.