Their ponies were standing crowded together with their heads down。
The hobbits sprang to their feet in alarm； and ran to the western rim。 They found that they were upon an island in the fog。 Even as they looked out in dismay towards the setting sun； it sank before their eyes into a white sea； and a cold grey shadow sprang up in the East behind。 The fog rolled up to the walls and rose above them； and as it mounted it bent over their heads until it became a roof： they were shut in a hall of mist whose central pillar was the standing stone。
They felt as if a trap was closing about them； but they did not quite lose heart。 They still remembered the hopeful view they had had of the line of the Road ahead； and they still knew in which direction it lay。 In any case； they now had so great a dislike for that hollow place about the stone that no thought of remaining there was in their minds。 They packed up as quickly as their chilled fingers would work。
Soon they were leading their ponies in single file over the rim and down the long northward slope of the hill； down into a foggy sea。 As they went down the mist became colder and damper； and their hair hung lank and dripping on their foreheads。 When they reached the bottom it was so cold that they halted and got out cloaks and hoods； which soon became bedewed with grey drops。 Then； mounting their ponies； they went slowly on again； feeling their way by the rise and fall of the ground。 They were steering； as well as they could guess； for the gatelike opening at the far northward end of the long valley which they had seen in the morning。 Once they were through the gap； they had only lo keep on in anything like a straight line and they were bound in the end to strike the Road。 Their thoughts did not go beyond that； except for a vague hope that perhaps away beyond the Downs there might be no fog。
Their going was very slow。 To prevent their getting separated and wandering in different directions they went in file； with Frodo leading。 Sam was behind him； and after him came Pippin； and then Merry。 The valley seemed to stretch on endlessly。 Suddenly Frodo saw a hopeful sign。 On either side ahead a darkness began to loom through the mist； and he guessed that they were at last approaching the gap in the hills； the northgate of the Barrowdowns。 If they could pass that； they would be free。
'e on！ Follow me！' he called back over his shoulder； and he hurried forward。 But his hope soon changed to bewilderment and alarm。 The dark patches grew darker； but they shrank； and suddenly he saw； towering ominous before him and leaning slightly towards one another like the pillars of a headless door； two huge standing stones。 He could not remember having seen any sign of these in the valley； when he looked out from the hill in the morning。 He had passed between them almost before he was aware： and even as he did so darkness seemed to fall round him。 His pony reared and snorted； and he fell off。 When he looked back he found that he was alone： the others had not followed him。 'Sam！' he called。 'Pippin！ Merry！ e along！ Why don't you keep up？'
There was no answer。 Fear took him； and he ran back past the stones shouting wildly： 'Sam！ Sam！ Merry！ Pippin！' The pony bolted into the mist and vanished。 From some way off； or so it seemed； he thought he heard a cry： 'Hoy！ Frodo！ Hoy！' It was away eastward； on his left as he stood under the great stones； staring and straining into the gloom。 He plunged off in the direction of the call； and found himself going steeply uphill。
As he struggled on he called again； and kept on calling more and more frantically； but he heard no answer for some time； and then it seemed faint and far ahead and high above him。 'Frodo！ Hoy！' came the thin voices out of the mist： and then a cry that sounded like help； help！ often repeated； ending with a last help！ that trailed off into a long wail suddenly cut short。 He stumbled forward with all the speed he could towards the cries； but the light was now gone； and clinging night had closed about him； so that it was impossible to be sure of any direction。 He seemed all the time to be climbing up and up。
Only the change in the level of the ground at his feet told him when he at last came to the top of a ridge or hill。 He was weary； sweating and yet chilled。 It was wholly dark。
'Where are you？' he cried out miserably。
There was no reply。 He stood listening。 He was suddenly aware that it was getting very cold； and that up here a wind was beginning to blow； an icy wind。 A change was ing in the weather。 The mist was flowing past him now in shreds and tatters。 His breath was smoking； and the darkness was less near and thick。 He looked up and saw with surprise that faint stars were appearing overhead amid the strands of hurrying cloud and fog。 The wind began to hiss over the grass。
He imagined suddenly that he caught a muffled cry； and he made towards it； and even as he went forward the mist was rolled up and thrust aside； and the starry sky was unveiled。 A glance showed him that he was now facing southwards and was on a round hilltop； which he must have climbed from the north。 Out of the east the biting wind was blowing。 To his right there loomed against the westward stars a dark black shape。 A great barrow stood there。
'Where are you？' he cried again； both angry and afraid。
'Here！' said a voice； deep and cold； that seemed to e out of the ground。 'I am waiting for you！'
'No！' said Frodo； but he did not run away。 His knees gave； and he fell on the ground。 Nothing happened； and there was no sound。 Trembling he looked up； in time to see a tall dark figure like a shadow against the stars。 It leaned over him。 He thought there were two eyes； very cold though lit with a pale light that seemed to e from some remote distance。 Then a grip stronger and colder than iron seized him。 The icy touch froze his bones； and he remembered no more。
When he came to himself again； for a moment he could recall nothing except a sense of dread。 Then suddenly he knew that he was imprisoned； caught hopelessly； he was in a barrow。 A Barrowwight had taken him； and he was probably already under the dreadful spells of the Barrowwights about which whispered tales spoke。 He dared not move； but lay as he found himself： flat on his back upon a cold stone with his hands on his breast。
But though his fear was so great that it seemed to be part of the very darkness that was round him； he found himself as he lay thinking about Bilbo Baggins and his stories； of their jogging along together in the lanes of the Shire and talking about roads and adventures。 There is a seed of courage hidden （often deeply； it is true） in the heart of the fattest and most timid hobbit； wailing for some final and desperate danger to make it grow。 Frodo was neither very fat nor very timid； indeed； though he did not know it； Bilbo （and Gandalf） had thought him the best hobbit in the Shire。 He thought he had e to the end of his adventure； and a terrible end； but the thought hardened him。 He found himself stiffening； as if for a final spring； he no longer felt limp like a helpless prey。
As he lay there； thinking and getting a hold of himself； he noticed all at once that the darknes