The sun, too, which might have guided them as to the
direction of their march, was temporarily clouded.
"Dog," said Hugo to the captive guide, "if thou misleadest us thou
shalt die."
"A man can die but once."
"Thou art a bold villain," said the baron, raising his sword.
"Slay me, and who will guide thee through the marsh?"
"True; do thy duty and fear nought."
"I will do my duty."
All this passed while they were slowly advancing, and the strange
part of it was this, that they did not seem to get to the end of
their toil. Little did they suspect that they were wandering in a
path which knew no end, save the bottom of the quagmire.
And now the marks of the feet, which had hitherto appeared plain
before Hugo as he rode, were seen no more; nor could the baron tell
the precise spot when they faded from sight; they had become
fainter and fainter, and then had vanished.
"Dog, where are the footmarks? thou art wandering from the road."
"We shall soon find them again."
"Are we nearly over the Swamp?"
"Thou wilt see firm land soon."
The baron grasped the cord tightly.
Onward they wandered, and still naught but rushes and flags, sedges
and dried reeds, met their gaze, until a promontory of firm
ground--a rock of deep red sandstone--rose from the mire, above
their heads--distant, it might be, a bow shot.
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