But Ellen's voice was not so well guarded. It was like her steps, a little unsteady. She presently spoke again. "Miss Alice — are you afraid?" "I am afraid of your getting sick, my child, and a little afraid of it for myself — of nothing else. What is there to be afraid of?" "It is very dark," said Ellen; "and the storm is so thick — do you think you can find the way?" "I know it perfectly; it is nothing but to keep straight on; and the fences would prevent us from getting out of the road. It is hard walking, I know, but we shall get there by-and-by; bear up as well as you can, dear. I am sorry I can give you no help but words. Don't you think a nice bright fire will look comfortable after all this?" "O dear, yes!" answered Ellen, rather sadly. "Are _you_ afraid, Ellen?" "No, Miss Alice — not much — I don't like its being so dark; I can't see where I am going." "The darkness makes our way longer and more tedious; it will do us no other harm, love. I wish I had a hand to give you, but this great cat must have both of mine. The darkness and the light are both alike to our Father: we are in his Hand; we are safe enough, dear Ellen." Ellen's hand left the cloak again for an instant to press Alice's arm in answer; her voice failed at the minute. Then clinging anew as close to her side as she could get, they toiled patiently on. The wind had somewhat lessened of its violence, and, besides, it blew not now in their faces, but against their backs, helping them on. Still the snow continued to fall very fast, and already lay thick upon the ground; every half hour increased the heaviness and painfulness of their march; and darkness gathered till the very fences could no longer be seen. It was pitch dark; to hold the middle of the road was impossible; their only way was to keep along by one of the fences; and, for fear of hurting themselves against some outstanding post or stone, it was necessary to travel quite gently. They were indeed in no condition to travel otherwise, if light had not been wanting. Slowly and patiently, with painful care groping their way, they pushed on through the snow and the thick night. Alice could _feel_ the earnestness of Ellen's grasp upon her clothes; and her clothes pressing up to her, made their progress still slower and more difficult than it would otherwise have been. "Miss Alice," said Ellen. "What, my child?" "I wish you would speak to me once in a while." Alice freed one of her hands, and took hold of Ellen's. "I have been so busy picking my way along, I have neglected you, haven't I?" "Oh, no, Ma’am. But I like to hear the sound of your voice sometimes; it makes me feel better." "This is an odd kind of travelling, isn't it?" said Alice, cheerfully; — "in the dark, and feeling our way along? This will be quite an adventure to talk about, won't it?" "Quite," said Ellen. "It is easier going this way, don't you find it so? The wind helps us forward."