"Not till the waters run dry!" she replied mysteriously, and with that another flash of lightning left us blinking in semi-darkness. When we looked round the witch had gone. A moment later we saw her making her way with great agility down the steep slope of the Bowl, till she disappeared from our view behind a large clump of heather and gorse. "Well, I’m----," and here Felgate broke off for want of a word to express his surprise. "How did she know we were on a treasure hunt?" "That’s more than I can tell," replied Drake, and drawing our cloaks tighter around our shivering bodies, we rode down the hill, silent and depressed, through the driving rain, towards the town of Godalming. CHAPTER XX--What we Heard and Saw at Holwick. The rest of our journey northward passed almost without incident. The day after our arrival at Godalming we rode quickly through Guildford to London, where we tarried no longer than we could possibly help, staying that night in the village of Highgate. Four days later, following the seemingly endless Great North Road, we arrived at the village of Bawtry, from which it is said most of our New England colonists had come. This place is just over the Yorkshire border, and to our unaccustomed ears the broad dialect seemed almost a foreign tongue. Here we stayed the night, intending to make an early start, so as to be at Holwick before sunset. An old farmer advised us to go by Thorne rather than by Doncaster, and, taking his advice, we rode over a fairly level road, which in three hours brought us in sight of the former place. Here we followed a broad, sluggish river, whereon lay many broad-bottomed craft not unlike those we had seen on the inland waters of the Dutch Republic. This river they call the Don. When we left it we crossed another--the Aire--at a place called Snaith. We were now but a few miles from our destination, and our hopes and fears ran high. At Carleton we left the main road, and after a few miles of a narrow winding lane the gaunt tower of Holwick rose before us. The village was a straggling one, consisting of a few stone cottages, an indifferent inn, and a small church, its square tower, blackened by fire, a silent witness to a long-forgotten Scottish raid. From its lead-covered summit Old Noll himself had directed the attack upon my father’s stronghold. Poverty, through manorial neglect, was only too apparent, and I could not help exclaiming despondently: "Look, friends! What a heritage, and hardly a scrap of paper to prove my right to it!" We halted at the old inn, and enquired in a seemingly casual tone whether we could be accommodated there. "For," quoth Felgate to the servile landlord, "we have a desire to know more of this old castle, and methinks that good fishing is obtainable in this stream."