“It is Elena!” she said, “She comes first, and is on foot. She holds her handkerchief hanging straight down at her side. Now she stops and lifts both her arms, then drops them again. It must mean grief for the peril we have been in. The men follow with the donkeys. They seem to carry heavy baggage, or something— What are they doing? There is no one else. What do they carry? O Dylar, where is Iona?”
She gave him the glass, her face losing its light, and growing pale and frightened. The little company on the heights was now plainly seen.
Dylar took the glass, looked through it, and took it away from his eyes. His face was livid.
“My God!” he said. “Where is Iona!”
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
- Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.
- Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.