The clouds had now almost dispersed, and a nearly full moon shone out, slaying the lustre of all stars in her neighbourhood, and lending a weird beauty to the landscape. But for the cause of this expedition, Jean would have been enraptured. Even as things were, she silently revelled in the exquisite fairy whiteness, to which the moonlight lent a silvery shimmer, unearthly in its purity. No feature in the scene looked like itself, and distances were altogether delusive in that bewildering white shine.
Though short, the snow-fall had been heavy, and the footpath was obliterated. A smooth surface stretched in all directions, broken by the dark lines of deep dividing dykes, which cut up the whole marshland into small meadow-squares. In summer, the dykes often contained only a low layer of water, but now they were full nearly to the brim with recent rains; and interlacing ice-needles had begun to dress the water-surface in a slender skin, even while the deep mud, underlying the snow on the dyke-banks, was scarcely hardened.
The footpath led through these meadows, either straight across or diagonally, and passed from one to another by a natural earth parapet, which had been left standing when the dykes were dug, just wide enough for a path, rough and dirty at the best of times, and now a mere mass of snow and half frozen slush. Moreover, at each crossing was a stile, held in position by a few upright wooden palings on either side of itself. Some of the stiles were very high and awkward, even when neither bars nor earth were in such a slippery condition.
These stiles, with their black supports, rearing their heads gloomily from the white snow, served to point out the route, since the footpath itself was undiscernible. They alone, beside the dykes and an occasional small bush, relieved the monotony of the pure carpet everywhere outspread. While the moon shone, it was not difficult for the walkers to shape their course from stile to stile, keeping note of their bearings. But when the moon had been hidden by a dense pall, and snow was heavily falling, things must have been widely different.
Mr. Trevelyan felt this strongly, though he would not suggest it, when Evelyn remarked—
"After all, if he did cross the marshes, he ought not to have gone wrong. I think he must have taken shelter somewhere, nearer home."
"You will not consent to go back now?"
"Go back! O no; not yet. We must meet Walters first. Where can he be?"
"He may have left the path to explore elsewhere. We shall probably come upon his traces soon."
They left deep footprints themselves at every step, in the soft new snow. It was heavy walking; yet Evelyn pressed on courageously, and Jean still sprang lightly in advance, like a young gazelle, seeming almost to skim the white surface.