ht he was swallowed up in some bog, but my father always believed
that he had fallen into the clutches of that Evil One, from whom he
himself had escaped but with the skin of his teeth. From that time to
his dying day was he never known to ramble on the moors again; an
altered man he became, sure enough, and our big Bible, with the
pictures in it, was brushed fro' the dust. He might be seen with the
book upon his knee at the doorstone on a summer's night, and the
third bench from the Squire's pew at Blackrod church never missed a
tenant till my father was laid quietly down in the churchyard."

During this recital there had been a close and almost breathless
attention. As he concluded a buzz of agitation pervaded the group; not
a word was spoken for a little while until Pilkington exclaimed,
slowly passing one hand over his brow--

"A marvellous delivery, which I might have been disposed to treat like
other marvels, had not our own senses in some measure left with us a
show of truth, or probability at least, about the adventure, which,
for my own part, I find it difficult to throw off. Exaggerated and
full of improbabilities, I admit, yet the story hath some substratum
of truth, no doubt by which it is supported. What it is, would be
difficult to ascertain, but the mystery or misapprehension, whatever
it be, shall be cleared up, and that speedily."

"Doubtless," said Mortimer; "but first let us return to our lodging.
Marvels, being in the inverse ratio to truth, always appear greatest
at a distance; and when the explanation comes, we may perhaps smile at
our present embarrassment. The riddle is easy when solved."

"True; but how is that to be accomplished?"

"Let us return to our quarters; we may perhaps find that our companion
has arrived there before us."

Pilkington shook his head incredulously. Indeed the whole affair had
made a much greater impression upon him than he was willing to allow,
even to himself.

The moon lighted them on their path as they took the nearest route to
their temporary sojourn. Many a cautious glance was cast behind, and
many a dark stone or bush--many a grotesque shadow--assumed the form
they feared to encounter. They arrived at their dwelling without
molestation, but--Norton was not there!

"Here is foul play somewhere," said Mortimer thoughtfully. "Think you,
Pilkington, that we could find out our way in this quiet moonshine to
that same 'Two Lads' which Martin pointed out? I fancy