He was presently upon the shore of Ascog Mere, whose surface was now
frozen over with thick clear ice. The black frost of the past night and
day had taken into its firm grip the waters of every lake and torrent in
the island. Even the distant murmur of the waterfalls of Arran was
hushed into silence now, and all around was deathly still. The wind had
sunk into a whisper and the few fleecy white clouds up above glided like
ghosts across the deep-blue sky. High over the snowy peaks of the Arran
mountains the full moon shone like a great silver shield and cast its
radiance upon the glassy surface of the lake. The wintry night was
almost as light as day, and every rock and tree stood out distinct and
black.
Kenric left the uneven ground and stepped upon the thick strong ice,
which was so clear at the edge that he could even see the shadowy reeds
below. He walked outward with steady steps, and bent his course
southward in the shimmering track of the moon's light. The lake was very
deep, but Kenric had no fear, for the ice was many inches thick and his
foothold was sure.
As he reached the middle of the lake, where no sound came to him but the
regular tread of his soft hide shoes and the tinkling ring of the ice, a
feeling of awe came over him. He solemnly remembered that it was the
last hour of the passing year -- it might also be his last hour upon
earth.
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