and
supplanted--by the black-haired man standing bareheaded behind the
coffin. The crowd endured the mockery of the burial service in a sullen
silence. Not a head uncovered. Not a voice joined in the responses.

Felicia threw back her veil, and the onlookers pressed to the churchyard
railings to see the delicate face, with its strong likeness to her
father. She meanwhile saw only Tatham. Her eyes were fixed on him from
first to last.

But there were two other ladies in the churchyard. After the hurried
ceremony was over, one of them approached Faversham. He took her hand in
silence, looking down into the eyes--the soul--of Lydia. With what
angelic courage and cheer that look was charged, only its recipient knew.

"Come and see us," she said, softly.

He shook his head, with a look of pain. Then he pressed her hand and they
separated. As he appeared at the churchyard gate, about to enter the
carriage which was waiting, a grim low groan ran through the throng
which filled the lane. There was something in the sound to strike a
shiver through the strongest. Faversham grew perhaps a little paler, but
as he seated himself in the carriage he examined the scowling faces near
him with a quiet indifference, which scarcely altered when Tatham came
conspicuously to the carriage-door to bid him farewell.

The days that followed reminded some of the older dalesmen of the stories
told by their fathers of the great and famous hunt, a century ago, after
the sheep-slaying "dog of Ennerdale," who for five months held a whole
district at bay; appearing and disappearing phantom-like among the crags
and mists of the high fells, keeping shepherds and farming-folk in
perpetual excitement, watched for by night and day, hunted by hounds and
by men, yet never to be captured; frightening lovers from their trysts,
and the children from school; a presence and a terror prevading men's
minds, and suspending the ordinary operations of life. So in some sort
was it with the hunt for Will Brand. It was firmly believed that in the
course of it he was twice seen; once in the loneliness of Skiddaw Forest,
not far from the gamekeeper's hut, the only habitation in that moorland
waste; and once in a storm on the slopes of Great Dodd, when a shepherd,
"latin" his sheep, had suddenly perceived a wild-looking fellow, with a
gun between his knees, watching him from the shelter of a rock. So far
from making any effort to capture the man, the shepherd had fled i