"This will never do! Heaven help us if he cracks up!" He waited for the
weary Senior, and then said gently, "Pace too hot, old fellow?"
"Rather. So sorry, but you seem to run almost."
"Run!" smiled Acton, bitterly. "Why, we're not doing a mile an hour.
Put your heart into it, Jack, and for Heaven's sake don't let me get too
much in front!"
"All serene!" said Senior, gamely.
To Acton's intense alarm, the snow had recommenced, and the wind swept
it down the fells full into their faces. Acton was afraid that he might
make a mistake if the snow became so heavy as to blot out the landscape,
and, knowing that to do so might have terrible consequences, he
nervously forced the pace.
Senior responded gamely.
"Keep well behind, old man. You'll dodge the snow better. Can you do a
wee sprint? We're not far from the top of the ridge, and then we've only
to work down the hill and bear to the left, and there we are."
"Only!" said Senior, wearily. "How far?"
"A bare mile. Step it out for all you're worth."
By this time it was obvious that the storm had recommenced in all its
fury, and Acton, in an ecstasy of horror and anxiety lest he should turn
the shoulder of the hill too late to see anything of the farm, almost
ran forward. He had thrust out his head, and his eyes anxiously peered
forward. They were now almost on the top of the shoulder of the fell.
Acton turned round with eagerness.
"Five minutes more and we're---- He's gone!"
Senior, indeed, was not in sight.
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