The Fugitives

"I was thinking the very same thing," added Lyon. "But if that is so, we
must have wandered far out of our way."

"And hush! Don't you hear something?" inquired Sybil, when they had
ridden a little farther on.

"No; what is it?"

"Listen! I want to know if you recognize it," she said.

"I hear a faint, distant roaring, as of a water-fall," he answered,
stopping his horse to hear the better.

"It is our Black Torrent!" exclaimed Sybil.

"Good Heaven! Then we have wandered out of our way with a vengeance.
However, there is no help for it now! We must go on, or stop here until
it is light enough to consult the compass."

"And at any rate, Lyon, no one will think of looking for us so near
home," she added.

"That is true," he admitted.

And they rode on slowly, looking about as well as they could through
the darkness, for a convenient place on which to dismount from the jaded
steeds.

Their path now lay through that deep mountain pass. Steep precipices
arose on either side. They picked their way slowly and carefully through
it, until they entered a crooked path leading down the side of a thickly
wooded hill. Here they rode on, a little more at their ease, until they
reached the bottom of the hill and the edge of the wood, and came out
upon an old forsaken road, running along the shores of a deep and rapid
river, with another mountain range behind.