The declivity became more precipitous, and the farmer pulled up. "Get down, you, boy Thomas, and lead Carver." Thomas scrambled out, and with a loud "whoa" caught hold of the reins. "It's like the first scene of a panto. You know, demons and all," said Jenny. Indeed, Thomas, with his orange-like head and disproportionately small body, leading the great mare, whose breath hung in fumes upon the murky air, had a scarcely human look. At the walking pace May was able to distinguish ferns in the grass banks and pointed them out to Jenny, who, however, was feeling anxious as in the steep descent the horse from time to time slipped on a loose stone. Down they went, down and down through the moisture and lush fernery. Presently they came to level ground and the gurgle of running water. Trewhella pulled up for Thomas to clamber in again. Beyond the rays of their lamps, appeared the outline of a house. "Is this a place?" Jenny asked. "'Tis Tiddlywits," Trewhella answered. "Or belonged to be rather, for there's nothing left of it now but a few mud walls. A wisht old place, 'tis." On restarting, they splashed through a stream that flowed across the road. "Oo-er," cried Jenny, "take care, we're in the water." Trewhella laughed loudly, and a moorhen waking in sudden panic rose with a shrill cry from a belt of rushes. "Oo-er, I'm getting frightened," said Jenny. "Put me down. Oh, May, I wish we hadn't come." Trewhella laughed louder than before. The wish appealed in its futility to his humor. Now came a slow pull up an equally deep lane, followed at the summit by another stretch of open country very wild. Suddenly the mare swerved violently. Jenny screamed. A long shape leaned over them in menace. "Ah, look! Oh, no! I want to go back," she cried. "Steady, you devil," growled Trewhella to the horse. "'Tis nothing, my dear, nothing only an old stone cross." "It gave me a shocking turn," said Jenny. "It made _me_ feel rather funny," said May. "You know, all over like." The girls shivered, and the cart jogged on across the waste. They passed a skewbald sign-post crowded with unfamiliar goblin names, and a dry tree from which once depended, Trewhella assured them, the bodies of three notorious smugglers. One of the carriage candles proved too short to sustain the double journey and presently flickered out gradually, so that the darkness on one side seemed actually to advance upon them. After a long interval of silence Trewhella pulled up with a jerk. "Listen," he commanded. "Oh, what is it?" asked Jenny, with visions of a murderer's approach. On a remote road sounded the trot of horses' hoofs miles away. "Somebody coming after us," she gasped, clutching May's sleeve. "No, that's a cart; but listen, can't you hear the sea?" Ahead of them in the thick night like the singing of a kettle sounded the interminable ocean.