‘We’ll keep you warm, my pretty!’ he said, gathering her to his breast.
‘Are we nearly there, mam?’ came the voice of Morgan.
‘Yes . . . yes . . .’ She turned to Abner: ‘It can’t be much farther, the time we’ve been walking.’
He did not answer. ‘Up she comes!’ he said, kissing Gladys and lifting her gently.
‘Your ‘stache is all over water, Abner,’ the child whispered.
They passed through the second gate, but here a new perplexity faced them. They had come to open moorland. The road that had hitherto been enclosed by stone walls was now no more than outlined by wheel-ruts bitten deep into the peaty soil. Mile upon mile of misty heather rolled away before them. Then the track faded altogether, splitting into three narrow lanes between the masses of ling. Abner stopped, and this, his first hesitation, filled Mary with dread.
‘Which way is it?’ she called.
He could not answer. ‘We must be somewhere near the top,’ he said at last. ‘Somewhere on the far side of the Ditches. If it wasn’t for this stuff we could see all right.’
‘But you can’t see,’ she said. ‘You don’t know. You don’t know any more than I do. We’re lost.’
‘Don’t you go on so quickly,’ he said. ‘If we keep to the middle we can’t be far out.’