Part 87 (1/2)
Fred felt dizzy as he listened to his companion's careless utterance, and he asked himself whether he should tell him what he thought. Twice over he was on the point of speaking, but he clung to the hope that his ideas might be only fancy, and he stood there turning icily cold.
The idea seemed so terrible--to stoop down there in that utter darkness and touch the form of the poor fellow who had been left in despair and loneliness to die, untended and without a soul to whom he could say a farewell word. No; he could not do it, and he felt as if he must turn and rush out of the wood.
”Feel him, Master Fred?” whispered Samson.
Again the sensation of cold and dread came over Fred, and he was about to yield to it and hurry away, when his determination mastered, and, setting his teeth fast, he bent down, went upon hands and knees, and felt on before him, letting his hand sink slowly so as to reverently touch him who he felt must be lying dead.
”Well, sir--got him?”
”No!” whispered Fred, hoa.r.s.ely, as his hand touched the twigs and leaves.
”Try again, sir.”
Fred crept on, and again stretched out his hand.
”Now you have him, sir?”
”No,” said Fred, with a throb of excitement sending a thrill through him; ”he is not here.”
”There, what did I tell you!” said Samson, in a satisfied tone. ”You would be so obstinate. This aren't the place.”
”But it is,” whispered Fred. ”I can feel where he laid. The twigs are all levelled down.”
”Nonsense, sir!”
”I tell you I am right; it's the hole he made for himself. This is the place, and--Hah!”
”Got him?”
”No; but here is your jerkin that you left to cover him.”
”Then you are right, sir. Well, feel about more.”
”I cannot get any further. This is the place, and he has either been found, or he has crept away, and--Yes, that's it; he hasn't had strength to creep back.”
”Then we must call again.”
”Yes.”
Samson repeated his cry, over and over again, without result, and then, Fred having rejoined him, they stood listening.
”We cannot find him to-night, Samson.”
”No, sir. Well, it doesn't much matter. He's ever so much better, or he wouldn't have gone out for a walk. Here, let's sit down and eat this here bread and chicken, and drink the cider, sir. I feel as if I hadn't had anything for a week, and the food has been b.u.mping about my lips and asking to go in ever since we started. I'm glad now I brought it, but I've been sorry I was so stupid all along.”
”Do you think we could find him if we searched?” said Fred, ignoring his companion's remark about the food.
”Sure we couldn't, sir, without a lanthorn; and if we had one we durstn't use it. Let's set down and have a bite.”
”No, no. Look here! If he has crept away, he is sleeping somewhere not far off, and he is sure to come back. Give me the food, and I'll lay it in there ready for him. He'll find it when it's light.”