“I’ll light a match while you get them out. It’s my fault. I might have guessed what would happen. I’d like to kick myself for being so thoughtless.”
“Please don’t! We don’t want any more tribulations. I—I’m quite all right!” cried Margot, with tremulous bravery. The flicker of a match showed a pale face, and two little hands grimed with dust and earth. She brushed them hastily together, and peered up into his face. “It’s pretty thick, isn’t it?”
“Abominably thick! I have heard of the sudden way in which these mountain mists come on, but I’ve never been in one before. I could kick myself once more for not having noticed it sooner. I suppose I was too much absorbed in our conversation.”
The match died out, and there was a moment’s silence, in which Margot seemed to hear the beating of her own heart. Then in the darkness a hand lifted hers, and placed it against an arm which felt reassuringly solid.
“You must let me help you along. A moor is not the easiest place in the world to cross in the dark. You won’t mind my shouts? I want to let the other fellows know where we are, if they are within hearing.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I’ll shout, too! They must be near. It seems ridiculous that we can’t see each other.”
But still no answering cry came back, and Margot’s sense of comfort in the supporting arm gradually gave place to a revival of her first dread. She shivered, and swallowed a lump in her throat before daring a fateful question.
“Mr Elgood, do you know—have you the faintest idea where we are going?”
His arm tightened over her hand, but he made no attempt at prevarication.
“No, I haven’t! For the last five or ten minutes it has been purely guess-work.”