"Spooks!" again exclaimed Lucy. "I've seen a spook. It's the spirit of this old house--a grinning, grey hag, grey as its name--and it's got you and me in its grip; but I'll get away from it, see if I don't. It takes the very life out of me--haunts me like a shadow." "Shut your eyes to it," said Barbara; "don't think of it, then it won't bother you." "Shut my eyes! So I do; but it's my bed-fellow when you're not here. It gets close to me--ugh!--and whispers and whispers----" "Well, what does it whisper?" "Horrid things--all about death and sorrow and pain----" "They're the common lot of us creatures. You won't escape them even if you run away from Greystones." "I'm off now, at any rate," and Lucy took her milk cans and set out for High Fold. It was her habit to meet Joel at this time, on her way through Cringel Forest, and glean from their short meeting either joy or unhappiness upon which to feed herself until the same hour of the next evening. The road to the village lay along the beck-side, and crossed the stream by an old stone bridge just beyond the falls. The bridge was garlanded in summer with honeysuckle; already the pale green leaves were out--the first green leaves in the dale--and the sight gladdened the heart of the girl. The further away she got from Greystones the happier she grew; she threw off the brooding despondency that had clouded her spirit all day, and hummed as she walked. The evening air was balmy, the snow had vanished from the fells, spring had come at last. She had not gone far when she met Peter Fleming on his way to see her great-grandmother. He was swinging along at a good pace, with books tucked under each arm, and whistling like a blackbird. But he turned and walked with her to the edge of the forest. She could not help a momentary wish that Peter, with his honest grey eyes, and open smile were Joel. She could have rested her heart in peace upon him. She would never have been troubled with doubts. She would have been like a bird, buoyed up like a bird on the calm blue waters of the mere, as happy and unconcerned a creature as any on the earth. He had never shown her anything but a brotherly affection, but she knew by instinct that artful fingers, and a pretty face could cause his heartstrings to vibrate. Yet it was Joel, and not Peter, whom she loved. He left her at the edge of the forest, and she followed one of the many paths by which it was intersected, that led to a clearing where Timothy Hadwin's cottage stood. But his door was shut, so she left his can of milk on the doorstep, and ran down to a little dell to meet Joel. She jingled her cans so that he might hear her coming. He was waiting for her with his back against a tree-trunk.