Evelyn was beginning to flag, despite her best efforts, and Mr. Trevelyan doubted whether she could go much further: but he only gave her all possible support, while Jean, free and unencumbered, kept in front. Another cloud obscured the moon, and Jean's slim figure vanished.
"Take care what you are after," called Mr. Trevelyan. "You have no lantern. If you come on a dyke suddenly, you may be in."
Evelyn shivered.
Then the cloud passed, the white landscape was flooded anew with silver, and presently—
"Father!" exclaimed Jean. "Father! This way—take the turn! Look here!"
She was kneeling on the snow, peering under a small bush; and as they came near, she sprang to meet them, holding out a silk pocket-handkerchief. "I can't see the initials. Is this his! It had been blown under shelter of the bush, and so the snow couldn't bury it. If it is his—"
Evelyn took the handkerchief with a trembling hand, and examined the corner, close to the lantern. "My husband's," she said.
"Then he has taken the wrong turn and gone this way."
"Clever girl," Mr. Trevelyan could not help murmuring. "Lead on, Jean. Remember, the handkerchief may have been blown from a distance. However, our business now is to reach Walters. Take my lantern, if you like. Adams will light us. But don't go too far."
"If he has been all these hours wandering among the marshes—" whispered Evelyn. "And no possible shelter—"