"I fear we must leave our work unfinished--we can see no longer, and may as well return home."
"My lord, would it please thee to number the party? we should be twenty."
"Count them thyself," he said.
"Fifteen."
"We left one behind us where we rested, but where are the rest?" said Ralph.
"It is useless to search for them now--it is so dark, the hour is late--we must return tomorrow."
"Perhaps," said the old forester, sorrowfully, "but we are in a forest infested by these English fiends, perhaps by real demons. There are many who affirm as much, and there is not a man here who might not profitably give up a year of his life to be just five miles nearer home."
The old man took the office of guide upon himself, naturally, as the most experienced in woodcraft, and for a mile or two led with confidence; but at length the darkness became intense, and the guide paused.
The night was indeed terrible; it was as black as ink--they could scarce see the uplifted hand when held before the face; while, to add to their discomfort, the snow, now they had changed their course, blew into their faces; the wind had risen and moaned in hollow gusts amidst the tree tops. Its wailings seemed like prognostications of coming evil.
It was at this juncture Ralph was forced to confess he could no longer feel certain of the track.