n the
moor; keeping always near us as companionably as if they were a couple
of dogs. In this position we wait events, while the dripping mist hangs
thicker than ever all round us.

The slow minutes follow each other wearily in the majestic silence of
the moor. We neither of us acknowledge it in words, but we both feel
that hours may pass before the guide discovers us again. The penetrating
damp slowly strengthens its clammy hold on me. My companion's
pocket-flask of sherry has about a teaspoonful of wine left in the
bottom of it. We look at one another--having nothing else to look at in
the present state of the weather--and we try to make the best of it. So
the slow minutes follow each other, until our watches tell us that forty
minutes have elapsed since the guide and his pony vanished from our
view.

My friend suggests that we may as well try what our voices can do toward
proclaiming our situation to any living creature who may, by the barest
possibility, be within hearing of us. I leave him to try the experiment,
having no strength to spare for vocal efforts of any sort. My companion
shouts at the highest pitch of his voice. Silence follows his first
attempt. He tries again; and, this time, an answering hail reaches us
faintly through the white fog. A fellow-creature of some sort, guide or
stranger, is near us--help is coming at last!

An interval passes; and voices reach our ears--the voices of two men.
Then the shadowy appearance of the two becomes visible in the mist. Then
the guide advances near enough to be identified. He is followed by a
sturdy fellow in a composite dress, which presents him under the double
aspect of a groom and a gardener. The guide speaks a few words of rough
sympathy. The composite man stands by impenetrably silent; the sight of
a disabled stranger fails entirely either to surprise or to interest the
gardener-groom.

After a little private consultation, the two men decide to cross their
hands, and thus make a seat for me between them. My arms rest on their
shoulders; and so they carry me off. My friend trudges behind them, with
the saddle and the cloak. The ponies caper and kick, in unrestrained
enjoyment of their freedom; and sometimes follow, sometimes precede
us, as the humor of the moment inclines them. I am, fortunately for my
bearers, a light weight. After twice resting, they stop altogether, and
set me down on the driest place they can find. I look eagerly through
the mist for