I was genuinely fatigued by the time we stopped each night, so it was not hard for me to accept Clare's continued avoidance of his bride as a sign of his delicate consideration. The journey was tiring and the scenery depressing. The hills were still brown and stark with winter; the animals seemed to shiver as they stood in the barren fields. When Clare told me we had crossed into Yorkshire, I wondered whether it was all so dreary. Owing to a breakdown on the road, we were late by half a day from the schedule Clare had laid out for us. He had planned to reach Greygallows early in the afternoon. Instead we were still some ten miles away when darkness began to fall. It had rained heavily that morning, and the roads were boggy with mud. Clare's normally equable temper showed signs of fraying under the delay and discomfort. I found his exasperation comforting; it was such a normal human reaction. Hitherto he had been too perfect, too coldly controlled to suit me. He was courteous enough to consult my feelings as to whether we should proceed, or seek temporary accommodations for that night, but I knew what his choice would be.
