Lost on the Moor

"Ron wouldn't go another way if he thought I was in danger! He promised
father to take care of me. I know he will come."

"Then we are bound to meet; unless--" George Elgood stopped short
hurriedly. It was not for him to open his companion's eyes to the fact
that the direction which they were taking had become a matter of
speculation, as one after another the familiar landmarks faded from
view.

The two brothers might pass by within a few yards, or their paths might
diverge by miles, but in either case they would be equally invisible.
The only hope was to go on sending out the familiar cry, which would at
once prove their identity. "Not that we should be any better off with
them than without!" he told himself dolefully.

Margot did not ask for a completion of the unfinished sentence, perhaps
because she guessed only too truly its import. A few steps farther on
her foot came in contact with a stone hidden beneath a clump of furze;
she stumbled, tried in vain to recover herself, and fell forward on her
knees. The shock and the severe pricking which ensued forced a cry of
dismay, and the Editor turned back hurriedly, and uttered a startled
inquiry.

"Miss Vane, where are you?"

"I'm here!" replied a doleful voice, and a dark form stirred at his
feet. "I--fell! On a horrid bush! My hands are full of prickles."