"Spirits sweep across my burying-place," whispered the youth.
The hound lowered his head and howled again.
"Frenchmen," muttered the boy.
The brute slouched a few feet, broke into a trot, and disappeared.
"He goes in the direction of New Windsor," said the knight. "Hast heard any sound in the forest?"
"There is no stir," replied the boy, holding his well-trained ear to the ground. "The smoke from our fire carries. Let us go aside into the shadow of the bush and watch."
They retreated, flashing glances to right and left. The snap of a twig, the very crushing of pine needles, sufficed to disturb that calm. There was no premonitory shiver of the moon-rays, no suggestion of any human presence upon the chilled air. Their feet sank audibly into the white moss. Their breath made the semblance of a whisper between father and son, the lion ready, the cub longing. The rim of the deep shadow ran behind as they turned to face the clearing they had abandoned.
"The wind blows from New Windsor," said the knight. "The wind off Couchicing."
"If Blood takes hold of a man he shall die," went on the boy. "He will hold at the back of the neck, and there hang until his fangs meet. Ha! Didst hear that?"
A branch had broken with a dry report. The trees moaned, and a few distended cones struck the ground like spent bullets.