A voice also as we drew close, muffled and monotonous, but human beyond
doubt. We crept round the mound till we came on a doorway all covered with
furze and grasses till it looked no more than a part of the mound. We
pulled open the door, and the voice inside said, "Blight him! Blight him!
Blight him!" and we crept in on our hands and knees.

There was a small fire of brown sods burning on the ground, and the place
was full of a sweet pungent smoke. A little old man sat crouched with his
chin on his knees staring into the fire, and said, "Blight him! Blight him!
Blight him!" without ceasing. There was no more than room for the three of
us, and we elbowed one another as we crouched by the fire.

He turned a rambling eye on us, but showed no surprise.

"Blight him! Blight him! Blight him!" said the little old man.

"Blight him! Blight him! Blight him!" said I, deeming it well to fall in
with his humour.

"Ay--who?" he asked.

"The one you mean."

"Ay,--Blight him! Blight him! Blight him!" and he lifted a bottle from the
ground between his knees, and took a pull at it, and passed it on to me. I
drank and passed it to Le Marchant, and the fiery spirit ran through my
veins like new hot life.

"We are starving. Give us to eat," I said, and the old man pointed to a
hole in the side of the hut. I thrust in my hand and found bread, dark
coloured and coarse, but amazingly sweet and strengthening, and a lump of
fat bacon. We divided it without a word, and ate like famished dogs. And
all the time the old man chaunted "Blight him!" with fervour, and drank
every now and then from the bottle. We drank too as we ate, but sparingly,
lest our heads should go completely, though we could not believe such
hospitality a trap.

It was a nightmare ending to a nightmare journey, but for the moment we
had food and shelter and we asked no more. When we had eaten we curled
ourselves up on the floor and slept, with "Blight him! Blight him! Blight
him!" dying in our ears.

I must have slept a long time, for when I woke I felt almost myself again.
I had dim remembrances of half-wakings, in which I had seen the old man
still crouching over his smouldering fire muttering his usual curse. But
now he was gone, and Le Marchant and I had the place to ourselves, and
presently Le Marchant stretched and yawned, and sat up blinking at the
smoke.

"Where is the old one?" he asked. "Or was he only a dream?"

"Real enough, and so was his bread an