The girl put her hand in his, springing up, and they darted into the dark windings together, making little rushes forward, hand in hand; then poising on one foot and listening.
"They might turn back you know, Velasco."
"Do you hear the bells?"
"Not yet."
Then they ran on.
The night grew darker and darker; the sky was heavy and black with clouds, and between them a faint light flitted occasionally like the ghost of a moon, but feeble and wan. It struggled with the clouds, piercing them for an instant; and then it was gone and the sky grew blacker, like a great inky; surface, reflecting shadows on the snowfields, gigantic and strange. The wind had died down, but the cold was intense, bitter, and the chill of the ice crept into the bones.
"What is that dark thing ahead on the road, can you see, Velasco?"
"Hist—Kaya, I see! It is big and black. It seems to be a house, or an inn, for look—there are lights like stars just appearing."
"Not that, Velasco, look closer, in front of the house; does it look like a sleigh?"
Velasco's grip tightened on the woolen glove of the girl and they halted together, half hesitating.