THE LOST FALCON 159 



the great White Horse. All the sheep are folded down 

 below, and even the birds have disappeared ; only the 

 sense of space and distance remains from summer's 

 charms, as we see Inkpen Beacon and Highclere loom- 

 ing up in the leaden sky. Where a low plantation 

 skirts the road the snow has drifted deep, calling to 

 memory an incident of the last great snow-storm. 

 Here a wagon was at last brought to in the drift, and 

 the man and boy who accompanied it lay out all night 

 in the bitter frost. In the morning the man with his 

 remaining strength unharnessed the horses. Leaving 

 one with the boy, he mounted the other and pushed 

 through the drifts to a shepherd's hut. Here as the 

 warmth relaxed his stiffened limbs he sank into a stupor. 

 Meanwhile the boy remained forgotten ; but the man's 

 torpid brain was awakened by the arrival of the second 

 horse, who had followed his companion. Full of self- 

 reproach, he hurried back with the shepherd to the spot 

 where the wagon was embedded in the drift. They 

 found the boy standing with his hand still raised as 

 though holding the rein; but the frost had done its work. 

 Seeing nothing of the falcon, we descended. On the 

 lower terrace of the hills stood the homestead, sur- 

 rounded by corn-ricks and cattle-yards ; and as we 

 approached it the absence of life and sound upon the 

 hill was explained. The sheep, of course, were all here, 

 bedded down in the warm pea-straw ; the farm-horses 

 also in their cosy stable, munching the oats of idleness. 

 But here too were all the birds of the hill ; for here 

 only was food. Even the turnip-fields were covered by 



