The philosophical Webb might have had much to think about that night had
he been in an analytical mood, for by some magic his sense of utter
weariness was marvellously relieved. With a low laugh, he thought,
"I'd be tempted to cross the mountains again for such a reward."
CHAPTER XIV
HINTS OF SPRING
When Amy awoke on the following morning she was almost dazzled, so
brilliant was the light that flooded the room. Long, quiet sleep and the
elasticity of youth had banished all depression from mind and body, and
she sprang eagerly to the window that she might see the effects of the
storm, expecting to witness its ravages on every side. Imagine her wonder
and delight when, instead of widespread wreck and ruin, a scene of
indescribable beauty met her eyes! The snow had draped all things in
white. The trees that had seemed so gaunt and skeleton-like as they
writhed and moaned in the gale were now clothed with a beauty surpassing
that of their summer foliage, for every branch, even to the smallest
twig, had been incased in the downy flakes. The evergreens looked like
old-time gallants well powdered for a festival. The shrubbery of the
garden was scarcely more than mounds of snow. The fences had almost
disappeared; while away as far as the eye could reach all was sparkling
whiteness. Nature was like a bride adorned for her nuptials. Under the
earlier influences of the gale the snow had drifted here and there,
making the undulations of her robe, and under the cloudless sun every
crystal glittered, as if over all had been flung a profusion of diamond
dust.
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