Now they had crossed the main channel in safety, not far below the present railway bridge, and landing, struck out boldly for the outskirts of Bagley, where the promised escort was to have met them. But in the darkness and the snow, they lost their direction, and came at last over the frozen fields to Kennington, where they indistinctly saw two or three lights through the fast-falling snow, but dared not approach them, fearing foes.
Vainly they strove to recover the track. The country was all alike—all buried beneath one ghastly winding-sheet. The snow still fell; the air was calm and keen; the breath froze on the mufflers of the lady. Onward they trudged, for to hesitate was death; once or twice that ghastly inclination to lie down and sleep was felt.
"If I could only lie down for one half hour!" said Maude.
"You would never wake again, lady," said Bertram of Wallingford; "we must move on."
"Nay, I must sleep."
"For thy son's sake," whispered Alain; and she persevered.
"Ah! here is the river; take care."
They had nearly fallen into a diversion of the stream at Sandford; but they followed the course of the river, until they reached Radley, and then they heard the distant bell of the famous abbey ringing for Matins, which were said in the small hours of the night.
Here they found some kind of track made by the passage of cattle, which had been driven towards the town, and followed it until they saw the lights of the abbey dimly through the gloom.