“Is it not time we returned?” said Miss Morgan, after they had ridden some distance farther. “The priest’s house in the wood that we passed nearly half-an-hour ago is the last in the forest. The mountains come soon now. Behold, Beebee, the pathway is already winding upwards. Farther on we may come upon the den of a wild beast, or even worse, the haunts of some evil men!”
Beebee was accustomed to be guided by her governess in everything, so she now reined up her steed, and both stopped short, and permitted the horses to help themselves to a few mouthfuls of the long tender grass that grew abundantly all around them.
The silence in this part of the dark wild forest was a silence that the heart could feel. Except for the occasional throbbing notes of a bulbul in the distance, no sound of any kind fell upon their ears for a time.
Suddenly, however, from an adjoining thicket came a sound that caused the hearts of both young ladies to beat faster as they listened breathlessly.
Twice or thrice it was repeated.
“What can it be, Miss Morgan?” said Beebee, turning a shade paler. “It sounds like someone moaning in pain or dying agony.”
“Nay, nay, dear pupil,” answered Miss Morgan, “we must not think that. It is in all probability but the mournful croodling of some wood pigeon. Hark, there it is again.”
Once more they listened.
There could be no mistake about it now, for not only was this moaning repeated, but after it a voice was heard calling feebly for help.
“Oh, sister,” cried Beebee, now thoroughly alarmed, “it is some poor wounded man. We cannot leave him. We must fly to his assistance!”