She thanked him. "We are not very far from the lake's head, are we?"
He was slow in answering, and his tones fell among the loose beating of the hoofs. "About a half a mile."
"It is a long way."
The hills were closing on them. The air seemed darker, and she could hear more water running to the lake—water wider and quicker than the little streams which had kept them company.
The cart rumbled across a little bridge, and left the lake, and, as they went carefully along the rutted lane, Theresa could look into the fields where lambs were sleeping. At their passing, a sheep cried out with a loud and bitter melancholy, voicing a dumb, bewildered world, and it was like waking from a long dream when the jolting ceased. The driver was speaking to someone in the road; she could not distinguish the words, and she sat passive, huddled in her coat and rugs, until the cart should move on again. It seemed impossible that it should have stopped; her body was still conscious of the movement, and she was swaying lightly.
The boy's unwrapping of the rugs aroused her. She heard the unseen person pass behind the cart, and saw a man's figure standing by the wheel.
"Is that you, Theresa?"
"Yes."
"I want you to get out here."
"Yes." She took his hand and stepped stiffly to the ground.