"I will," was her firm reply; but when she saw him silently making ready to set forth, her heart misgave her; and going up to him, she said pleadingly, "Will you not tell me where you are going, and what you will do?"
"Going to call Geordie and the lads, and then search the road to the Old Man."
Alice shuddered; and quietly laying her cold hand on his arm, said, "Mark, you must let me go with you. I cannot stay behind."
"And leave the mother in her desolation, Alice? Besides," he added in a low voice, as he rushed out through the porch, "how could I bear to risk my all?"
Poor Alice! She knew only too well how great was her stake, too. But every wandering thought was called home to assist in the dreaded duty of breaking Miles' mysterious disappearance to the widowed mother.
There was no wringing of hands, no tearing of hair, no wild burst of passionate grief; but there was a look of inexpressible anguish which seemed to make her ten years older at one stroke; and there were just these few words, "I had best be alone, Alice, dear; but bring me my book; for I am thinking I shall want every promise I can find, and every prayer I can pray."
Alice silently crossed the door, and left her to the prayer of faith.
In the meantime, Mark was far on his way to the Green Gap, striding onward in eager haste, and Geordie and the lads plodded after, looking anxiously for tracks as they went. But some fresh snow had fallen in the early morning, obliterating the footmarks which had been left, first by Tim o' the Brooms, and then by Miles and his mute companion.
"I see nothing but smooth snows," shouted Mark to the group behind him.
"Well, Master Wilson, I seem to see sores in the snow, which have healed over, like. They'll serve for the length of a man's stride well enough, too. Look ye here."