“Take my hand, Rotha; you might slip on the frosty road in darkness like this.”
The words were scarcely spoken, when Rotha gave a little cry and stumbled. “In an instant Ralph's arm was about her, and she had regained her feet.
“What is that?” she said, trembling with fear, and turning backwards.
“A drift of frozen sleet, no doubt,” Ralph said, kicking with his foot at the spot where Rotha slipped.
“No, no,” she answered, trembling now with some horrible apprehension.
Ralph had stepped back, and was leaning over something that lay across the road. The dog was snuffling at it.
“What is it?” said Rotha nervously.
He did not answer. He was on his knees beside it; his hands were on it. There was a moment of agonizing suspense.
“What is it?” Rotha repeated.
Still there came no reply. Ralph had risen, but he knelt again. His breath was coming fast. Rotha thought she could hear the beating of his heart.