They had almost lost count of time, and they hardly knew where they were, when, late one night, Dora came to a standstill.
The moon was shining, the cold intense, and the snow, which crackled beneath their feet, lay thick and glittering all around them. It was the sort of night that sends fear into the hearts of all who are compelled to be abroad, and yet are anxious to escape the notice of their fellow men, for it was as light almost as by day, and the travellers showed up like a couple of black spots against the white background.
Talabor, muffled in his cloak, was leading Dora by the hand; she had her large hood drawn over her head, and the two looked as very a pair of tramps as one could meet with anywhere.
The cold cut through them like a knife, though the night was still—too still, for there was not wind enough to cover up the track they had left behind them. It would be easy to trace them, for the snow was powdery, and in many places they had sunk in it up to their knees.
"I must stop, I am tired out! and I am so deadly sleepy," said Dora, in a broken voice, "I feel numb all over, as if I were paralysed."
She looked ghastly pale, worn, thin, a mere shadow of what she had been; and she had been travelling all day, dragging herself along with the greatest difficulty.
"Dear lady," said Talabor gently, supporting her trembling figure as well as he could, "do you see that dark patch under the trees yonder?"
"I can't see so far, Talabor," she stammered.
"I see it plainly," he went on, "and it is a building of some sort, a dwelling-house, I think. If you could just manage to get so far, we should be better sheltered than we are here."