Nellie saw the farm, and knew by the stream of light that all the doors and windows stood wide open. The trackway beyond was dangerous because one window threw a searchlight right across it; but she walked on, having never been taught the art of scouting, and came presently to a colossal figure, carved apparently out of granite, or beaten into human shape by wind and weather, rising from an unhewn boulder halfway to the sky. This was a wonder of the moor never previously discovered, thought Nellie; but a moment later she felt certain ghosts were abroad, and this colossus was being worshipped by the local inhabitants, dancing invisibly all over the peat and tussocks: she could detect the smell of incense, see the smoke rising; any moment she might be compelled to witness a human sacrifice. There was a glow of fire undoubtedly. Again she fled, while the colossus shook from side to side although there was no wind. "How silly of me!" gasped Nellie. "It was old Mr. Brock, sitting on a rock--bother the rhyme!--smoking a cigar." Obsessed by the idea of finding out something concerning this enchanted region, she went on towards the farmhouse, forced to walk along the lighted trackway because it skirted the edges of a bog, where in full swing was the season of grand opera and, from a cool green dais, the bullfrog conductor constrained an enormous amount of energy out of his orchestra--it sounded like Tanhäuser but was more melodious--although the night-jars and owls did their best to mar the performance out of professional rivalry, while the beetles with their trombones were hopelessly discordant. But soon there were other sounds, far pleasanter; a scuffling in the furze-clad regions beyond; an approach, a trepidation, a capture, and a scream: "You beast, Sidney! I did think I had hidden myself that time." "I saw the white ribbon in your hair. You looked out just at the wrong moment." "It's my turn to seek now." "I'm going up to Highfield." "I don't believe she's coming." "I'll go and find out anyhow." "Shall I come?" "No, you stop at home." "I won't spoil sport. If you see her, I'll cut off full lick." "Listen! that was grandfather whistling." Nellie stood upon the trackway shivering. Behind her old Mr. Brock closed the pass; in front Sidney was approaching; on the right side spread the bogs; on the left a jagged wilderness of boulders. From a strategical point of view she was done for. And she had come there to spy! She could only halt in vexation squeezed against a rock until captured, or advance with what little dignity remained to make an unconditional surrender. "Boots muddy, hair all anyhow, crushed clothes--and caught in this abominable fashion," she murmured. "In fact I'm so untidy there's just a chance he may not recognise me."