"Barbara Lynn," he muttered, a note of suspicion creeping into his voice. "What the devil are you doing here?" "I'm going home." "Going home to Greystones! Have you seen Lucy?" "No. Why do you ask?" He did not reply for a moment, then said: "Are you sure you haven't passed her?" Barbara's blood began to quicken with vague doubts. "Have you seen her?" she demanded. "Has my sister been here?" "Yes, I sent for her." "And where is she now?" "Gone home long ago." "Thank God." Barbara uttered the words with profound gratitude, then she turned sharply on the man. "You're doing wrong, Joel. Neither you nor Lucy have any right to meet in this way." "It will never happen again," he said. She started uneasily. Into her mind crept a fear that all was not well. She tried to read his face: the night was too dark and his manner baffled her. But he rose suddenly, took her roughly by the arm, and turning her round, pointed to the shining marks. "Do you know what they are?" he cried. "I've seen them before," she said, "on such a night as this. They're footprints. Someone has been crossing the marsh." Horror crept over her, but before she could frame a question, he had jerked his hand in the direction of Quaking Hag. "The fence is broken," he said, "there are gaps in it. Does Lucy know the place?" "What do you mean, Joel? What has happened? You said Lucy had gone home." "She ran away and left me. I don't know where she went: I don't know what's become of her. No doubt she's safe at home." Barbara uttered no cry, no word of anguish or condemnation. She stood for a moment as though frozen, then turned to the man beside her. "God forgive you! Some ill may have happened to Lucy! Go to the inn," she said. "Go at once. Tell every one to follow me to Quaking Hag." He hesitated. "Go," she cried. "Why do you stand there as if you hadn't heard? You're sober enough to know what may have happened." "I'll help you to look for her," he doggedly replied. "That's as you please. But you'll go to the inn first." There was such a note of authority in her voice that he had to obey. He dared not do otherwise. Barbara left the road, and followed the glittering prints that led away over the marsh. As she got nearer to it, the will o' the wisp shone here and there; the ground got softer, and she knew that slimy pools were opening out on every side. Now and again she called Lucy's name, but there was no answer. Utter silence closed round her. She went on, not daring to hope that she might find a trace of her sister. Quaking Hag kept whatsoever it took, and told no secrets. Her mind seemed to be stiff with horror. She could think of nothing save that she must go on, until she could go no further. * * * * *