"What is to be done?" Master Bertie called out, as we moved up to them. "The guide tells me that there is a broken piece of road in front which will be impassable with this depth of water."
I had expected to hear this; yet I was so dumfoundered--for, this being true, we were lost indeed--that for a time I could not answer. No one had uttered a word of reproach, but I knew what they must be thinking. I had brought them to this. It was my foolish insistence had done it. The poor beast under me shivered. I struck him with my heels. "We must go forward!" I said desperately. "Or what? What do you think? Go back?"
"Steady! steady, Master Knight Errant!" the Duchess cried in her calm, brave voice. "I never knew you so bad a counselor before!"
"It is my fault that you are here," I said, looking dismally around.
"Perhaps the other road is as bad," Master Bertie replied. "At any rate, that is past and gone. The question is, what are we to do now? To remain here is to die of cold and misery. To go back may be to run into the enemy's arms. To go forward----"
"Will be to be drowned!" Mistress Anne cried with a pitiful sob.
I could not blame her. A more gloomy outlook than ours, as we sat on our jaded horses in the middle of this waste of waters, which appeared in the moonlight to be boundless, could scarcely be imagined. The night was cold for the time of year, and the keen wind pierced our garments and benumbed our limbs. At any moment the rain might begin afresh, and the moon be overcast. Of ourselves, we could not take a step without danger, and our guides had manifestly lost their heads and longed only to return.
"Yet, I am for going forward," the Duchess urged. "If there be but this one bad place we may pass it with care."
"We may," her husband assented dubiously. "But suppose when we have passed it we can go no farther. Suppose the----"
"It is no good supposing!" she retorted with some sharpness. "Let us cross this place first, Richard, and we will deal with the other when we come to it."