That was a sombre ride home.  It was now raining heavily; and all the night seemed to be filled with a murmuring of streams and a moaning of winds among the invisible hills.  Roderick walked by the pony’s head; and Lionel could just make him out, and no more, so pitch dark it was.  Of course he had no idea of the route he was taking or of the nature of the ground they were getting over; but he could guess from Maggie’s cautious steps when they were going over rough places, or he could hear the splash of her feet when they were crossing a swamp.  Not a word was uttered; no doubt all the forester’s attention was bent on making out a path; while as for Lionel, he was too wet and cold and miserable to think of talking to anybody.  If he had certainly known that somewhere or other he had left up there a stag, which they could bring down in the morning, that would have consoled him somewhat; but it was just as likely as not that all this privation and fatigue had been endured for nothing.  As they trudged along through the gloomy night, the rain fell more heavily than ever, and the bitter wind seemed to search out every bone in his body.

And then when at length they came within sound of the Geinig, that was no longer a friendly voice welcoming them back to more familiar regions; it was an angry and threatening roar; he could see nothing; he could only imagine the wild torrent hurling along through this black desolation.

“Look here, Roderick,” he said, “mind you keep away from that river.  If we should stumble down one of the steep banks, we should never be heard of again.”

“Oh, ay, we’re a long distance from the ruvver? and it is as well to keep aweh; for if we were to get into the Geinig to-night, we would be tekken down like straws.”

And how welcome was the small red ray that told of the shepherd’s cottage just below the juncture of the Geinig and Aivron.  It was a cheerful beacon; it spoke of human association and companionship; the moan of the hurrying Aivron seemed to have less of boding in it now.  It is true they still had the two fords to encounter, and another long and weary tramp, before they got back to the lodge; but here at least was some assurance that they were out of those storm-haunted solitudes where the night was now holding high revel.  That ray of light streaming from the solitary little window seemed to Lionel a blessed thing; it served to dissipate the horrors of this murmuring and threatening blackness all around him; it cheered and warmed his heart; it was a joyful assurance that they were on the right way for home.  When they reached the cottage, they knocked at the door; and presently there was a delightful, ruddy glow in the midst of the dark.  Would the gentleman not come in and warm himself at the fire and get his clothes dried?  No:  Lionel said that getting wet through once was better than getting wet through twice; he would go on as he was.  But might he have a glass of milk?  The shepherd disappeared,