Now and then she stopped to listen; but never a word or sound
heard she, till right from where the copse-wood grew thick and
tangled at the base of the rock, round which she was winding, she
heard a moan. Into the brake--all snow in appearance--almost a plain
of snow looked on from the little eminence where she stood--she
plunged, breaking down the bush, stumbling, bruising herself,
fighting her way; her lantern held between her teeth, and she herself
using head as well as hands to butt away a passage, at whatever cost
of bodily injury. As she climbed or staggered, owing to the
unevenness of the snow-covered ground, where the briars and weeds of
years were tangled and matted together, her foot felt something
strangely soft and yielding. She lowered her lantern; there lay a
man, prone on his face, nearly covered by the fast-falling flakes; he
must have fallen from the rock above, as, not knowing of the
circuitous path, he had tried to descend its steep, slippery face.
Who could tell? it was no time for thinking. Susan lifted him up
with her wiry strength; he gave no help--no sign of life; but for all
that he might be alive: he was still warm; she tied her maud round
him; she fastened the lantern to her apron-string; she held him
tight: half-carrying, half-dragging--what did a few bruises signify
to him, compared to dear life, to precious life! She got him through
the brake, and down the path.
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