Unconscious of being followed and overheard, they talked freely of their plans. Their prospects of final escape were not now nearly so hopeful as they had been on their two former attempts. They were now undisguised, and unprovided for the journey, except with money and a change of clothing. For necessary food they would have to stop at houses, and thus incur some degree of danger. All this they discussed as their horses slowly toiled along the rugged road up hill and down, through woods and fields, until they came near that mountain pass that they had been dimly seeing before them all night long and that looked like a grey cleft in a black wall.
“It must be near morning now. But I have not a very clear idea where we are. I shall be glad when it is light if it is only to consult my map and compass,” said Lyon, uneasily.
“I never was on this side of the mountain before, but it does seem to me that that must be a spur of the Black Ridge which we see before us,” suggested Sybil.
“I was thinking the very same thing,” added Lyon. “But if that is so, we must have wandered far out of our way.”
“And hush! Don’t you hear something?” inquired Sybil, when they had ridden a little farther on.
“No; what is it?”
“Listen! I want to know if you recognize it,” she said.
“I hear a faint, distant roaring, as of a water-fall,” he answered, stopping his horse to hear the better.
“It is our Black Torrent!” exclaimed Sybil.
“Good Heaven! Then we have wandered out of our way with a vengeance. However, there is no help for it now! We must go on, or stop here until it is light enough to consult the compass.”