er a
gaze of inquiry on the stranger, suddenly disappear through the
opening. The door was immediately closed by a loud and violent gust.
Flying open again with the rebound, the figure of Norton was seen
rapidly descending the hill towards the south-east, preceded by the
mysterious horseman. The light was too feeble for enabling them to
ascertain the course they took; but it seemed probable that Norton
was away over the hills with the unknown messenger. Their first
impulse was to follow; but the impossibility of overtaking the
fugitives, and the near approach of night, would have rendered it a
vain and probably a perilous attempt. Looking anxiously down the dark
ravine where Norton had so strangely disappeared, Pilkington was
startled by a voice from behind; turning, he saw it was the man who
had previously dropped those mysterious hints about the "Spectre
Horseman," which now vividly recurred to his memory and imagination.

"Master," said this personage, respectfully touching his cap, "you had
better not follow."

"Follow!" said Pilkington, as though bewildered; and the words were
but the echo of his thoughts; "follow!--I cannot--yet why should we
not make the attempt?"

"Step in, if you please, sir. I should not like to speak of it here."
He said this hurriedly, in a tone of deep anxiety and apprehension,
looking wistfully around and over the dark hills, fearful, apparently,
that others were listening. Pilkington obeyed, but with reluctance.
The door was cautiously latched; and to prevent the wind, which now
began to rise in louder gusts, from bursting this crazy barrier, a
heavy stone was laid to the threshold.

"It is--let me see"--said Martin, counting the lapse upon his fingers;
"ay,--ten--eleven--'tis twelve years ago, on this very night, St
Bartlemy's Eve, my father, a hale old man at that time of day, some'at
given, though, to hunting and fowling a bit o' moonlights--and a fine
penny he made on't, for many a week, selling the birds at Manchester.
Well, as I was saying;--one evening before dusk--the sun had but just
cooled his chin i' the water away yonder--he trudged off wi' the dogs,
Crab and Pincher--two as cunning brutes as ever ran afore a tail. They
might ha' known the errand they were going on, sneakin' about wi' such
hang-dog looks, which they always took care to put on when t' ould man
began to get ready for a night's foraging. They would follow at his
heels, almost on their bellies, for fear o' be