In an instant all four bounded forward and were once more lost in the storm.
But they had hope, and every moment, a night like this, was precious. They groped down the garden walk, and towards the meadow, shouting as they went. Then presently they halted again and listened.
Yes there was the call again, and nearer. Thank Heaven! they were on the right track. On they went once more. Another shout! Nearer still!
Oh, for a lull in the tempest, that they might give one shout back!
“Try,” said Mr Rastle, “they may hear it. Here, Roach, come and shout—one, two, three, and a—”
What a shout it was! The wind got hold of it as if it had been a sparrow’s twitter, and tossed it mockingly over their heads and far away behind them, who knows where? “It’s no go,” said Wraysford. “Hullo, here’s the meadow ditch. Hadn’t we better follow it up and down? Stephen and I will take the left.”
Once more, as they turned, a shout!
“Oh, be quick!” cried Stephen. “Where does it come from? Come, Wray, quick!”
They might as well have tried to fly as run against that wind; but they crawled rapidly forward.
Suddenly, close at their side, rose the shout again. With a bound the two boys were over the ditch, and in another moment a fourfold shout proclaimed that the wanderers were found!