They bade good morning to the old man and left him. Then they walked to the angle of the roads where the guidepost stood. The arms were covered with the snow, and Ralph climbed on to the stone wall behind and brushed their letters clear.
“To Kendal.” That pointed in the direction from whence they came.
“To Gaskarth.”
“That's our road,” said Sim.
“No,” said Ralph; “this is it—'To Penrith and Carlisle.'”
What chance remained now to Robbie?
CHAPTER XXXIV. FATE THAT IMPEDES, FALL BACK.
A few minutes after the coach arrived at Mardale, Robbie was toiling along in the darkness over an unfamiliar road. That tiresome old headache was coming back to him, and he lifted a handful of snow now and again to cool his aching forehead.
It was a weary, weary tramp, such as only young, strong limbs, and a stout heart could have sustained. Villages were passed, but they lay as quiet as the people that slumbered in them. Five hours had gone by before Robbie encountered a living soul.