“I’ve been asleep,” he cried. “How could I!” He ate some snow; then he began to move on automatically, as it were, the dog running in front and barking. The dog would have led him home. “No, no, Kooran,” he said; “the river, doggie, the river.”
Kenneth tried to run now. His teeth were chattering with the cold, but his face was hot and flushed.
His nerves had become strangely affected. He started fifty times at imaginary spectres. Some one was walking on in front of him—some shadowy being. He ran a little; it eluded him. Then he stopped; he was sure he saw a head peering at him over a piece of rock. He called aloud, “Archie! Archie!”
His voice sounds strange to his own ears. He runs towards the rock. There is no one behind it. No one. Nothing.
He feels fear creeping over his heart. He never felt fear before.
But still he wanders on, muttering to himself, “I’ll soon be back. Poor old Nancy! Poor old Nancy!”
All at once—so it seems—he finds himself at the banks of a stream. He is bewildered now, completely. He presses his cold hand against that burning brow of his.
What is this river or stream? Where is he going? Did he cross this stream before? He must cross it now, but where is the ford? How deep and dark and sullen it looks.
He seats himself on the icy bank to think or try to think.
He is burning, yet he shivers.