So in a while they arose from their knees and went their way, while the
dead youth lay with wide eyes that seemed to out-stare the pallid moon.

Now as they went on very silently together, of a sudden Black Roger
caught Beltane by the arm and pointed into the gloom, where, far before
them, small lights winked redly through the murk.

"Yon should be Sir Gilles' watch-fires!" he whispered.

"Aye," nodded Beltane, "so I think."

"Master--what would ye now?"

"Pray, Roger--I pray God Sir Gilles' men be few, and that they be sound
sleepers. Howbeit we will go right warily none the less." So saying,
Beltane turned aside from the road and led on through underbrush and
thicket, through a gloom of leaves where a boisterous wind rioted;
where great branches, dim seen, swayed groaning in every fierce gust,
and all was piping stir and tumult. Twigs whipped them viciously,
thorns dragged at them, while the wind went by them, moaning, in the
dark. But, ever and anon as they stumbled forward, guiding themselves
by instinct, the moon sent forth a pale beam from the whirling cloud-wrack
--a phantom light that stole upon them, sudden and ghost-like,
and, like a ghost, was gone again; what time Black Roger, following
hard on Beltane's heel, crossed himself and muttered fragments of
forgotten prayers. Thus at last they came to the river, that flowed
before them vague in the half-light, whose sullen waters gurgled evilly
among the willows that drooped upon the marge.

"Master," said Roger, wiping sweat from his face, "there's evil
hereabouts--I've had a warning--a dead man touched me as we came
through the brush yonder."

"Nay Roger, 'twas but some branch--"

"Lord, when knew ye a branch with--fingers--slimy and cold--upon my
cheek here. 'Twas a warning, master--he dead hand! One of us twain
goeth to his death this night!"

"Let not thine heart fail therefor, good Roger: man, being dead, liveth
forever--"

"Nay, but--the dead hand, master--on my cheek, here--Ah!--" Crying
thus, Black Roger sprang and caught Beltane's arm, gripping it fast,
for on the air, borne upon the wind, yet louder than the wind, a shrill
sound rang and echoed, the which, passing, seemed to have stricken the
night to silence. Then Beltane brake from Roger's clasp, and ran on
beside the river, until, beyond the sullen waters the watch-fires
flared before him, in whose red light the mill loomed up rugged and
grim, its massy walls scarred and cracked, its gr