He was glad she thought so, but he could not see it.

“I HAVE been an ass. Your brother’ll be pretty sick with me.”

“He’ll know I’m with you.”

“If we only had a compass. We may be out all night at this rate. Here’s another fork! Gosh, it is going to be dark.”

And, almost as he spoke, the last of the light failed; he could barely see her five yards away.

He came up close alongside, and she touched his sleeve.

“Don’t worry,” she said; “that spoils it.”

Shifting his reins, he gave her hand a squeeze.

“You’re splendid, Miss Wilmot.”

“Oh! do call me Anne. Surnames seem kind of chilly when you’re lost.”

“Thank you very much. My name’s Jon. Without an h, you know—short for Jolyon.”

“Jolyon—Jon; I like it.”

“Well, Anne’s always been my favourite name. Shall we stop till the moon rises, or ride on?”

“When will the moon rise?”

“Not for hours, judging from last night.”

“Let’s ride on and leave it to the horses.”

“Right! Only if they make for anywhere I’m pretty sure it’ll be towards Columbia, which must be miles and miles.”

They pursued the narrow track at a foot’s pace. It was really dark now. Jon said: “Are you cold? You’d be warmer walking. I’ll go ahead; stick close enough to see me.”

He went ahead, and soon dismounted, feeling cold himself; there was utter silence among unending trees.

“I’m cold now,” said the voice of Anne. “I’ll get off too.”

They had trailed on perhaps half an hour like this, leading their horses, and almost feeling their way, when Jon said: “Look! There’s some sort of a clearing here! And what’s that blackness on the left?”

“It’s a mound.”

“Which mound, I wonder? The one we saw, or the other, or neither?”

“I reckon we’d better stop here till the moon rises, then maybe we’ll see which it is, and know our way.”

“You’re right. There’ll be swamps, I expect. I’ll tether the horses to leeward, and we’ll try to find a nook. It IS cold.”