Before Tory reached the grove of trees Mr. Fenton appeared at the edge, his dark figure against the white background. He was staggering under a heavy load.
No longer running ahead but close beside him stalked the Emperor with downcast head.
Tory gave a cry of mingled fear and pain.
The weight Mr. Fenton was carrying was the figure of a woman. Her coat was encrusted with snow, her body appeared entirely limp and lifeless. About the figure there was a bewildering familiarity.
An instant Tory sank to the ground. Memory Frean had been out all night trying to find her way home to the House in the Woods. She, of all persons, to have lost her way in a storm, with her knowledge of the outdoor world!
What must be done? Tory rose up but did not go forward to offer aid. Instead, she floundered back the way she had come, not many yards in reality. As soon as possible she reached her horse’s head and attempted to turn him from the road.
The idea was her own, but Mr. Fenton, appreciating the wisdom of her plan, laid down his burden and came at once to her assistance.
They must get Miss Frean back to her own home. The distance was not great, and now they had made a trail the return would require only a few moments.
Inside the sleigh Tory partly supported the body of her friend, chafing her wrists and forehead with snow and vainly trying to discover some suggestion of life and warmth. Her face appeared as intensely white as the snow itself.
Less than a quarter of an hour found them before the door of the House in the Woods.