“I was told to look for the Tump,” he said. “Other landmarks were the Castle and Moonlight Firs. I think I should know the Tump, or the Castle, but cannot see either. Can you recognise Moonlight Firs?”
“Every hill seems to have a Folly,” she said, looking round. “I mean a clump of trees on the top. Yes,”—after a second searching gaze—“I believe that must be the Firs; it is larger than the rest.”
He took Kitty’s bridle, and led the chestnut in the direction of the copse. The distance was increased by the undulation of the ground, but in twenty minutes it grew more distinct.
“Yes, I am sure it is Moonlight Firs,” she said hopefully. “We shall find the track there.”
Kitty laboured up the steep slope wearily; Geoffrey patted and encouraged the mare.
“But what trees are these?” said Margaret, with a sudden change of tone as they reached the summit.
“I am afraid they are beeches,” said he. He ran forward, and found that they were. There were no firs. Margaret’s heart sank; the disappointment was very great.
“Look once more,” he said. “From this height there is a better view. See, there are three copses round us; is either like the Firs?”
“They are all just alike,” she said, in a troubled tone; then pleadingly, “Geoffrey—think.”
“There are the stars still,” he said.