Barbara leaned against the last stone hedge which divided moor from field, and looked at the moving lights without thinking of the beauty and wildness of the spectacle. She was steeped in her own thoughts, and was never at any time keenly alive to the beautiful and the fantastic. She thought of Jasper. She had lost all faith in him. He was false and deceitful. What could she believe about that meeting on the Raven Rock? He might have convinced her father that he was not there. He could not convince her. What was to be done? Would her father betray the man? He was ill now and could do nothing. Why was Jasper so obstinate as to refuse to leave? Why? Because he was infatuated with Eve. On that very down it was that Jasper had been thrown and nearly killed. If only he had been killed outright. Why had she nursed him so carefully? Far better to have left him on the moor to die. How dare he aspire to Eve? The touch of his hand carried a taint. Her brain was dark, yet, like that landscape, full of wandering sparks of fire. She could not think clearly. She could not feel composedly. Those moving, wavering fires, now rushing up in sheaves of flame, now falling into a sullen glow burnt on the sides of solid mountains, but her fiery thoughts, that sent a blaze into her cheek and eye, and then died into a slow heat, moved over tossing billows of emotion. She put her hand to her head as if by grasping it she could bring her thoughts to a standstill; she pressed her hands against her bosom, as if by so doing she could fix her emotions. The stars in the serene sky burned steadily, ever of one brightness. Below, these wandering fires flared, glowed, and went out. Was it not a picture of the contrast between life on earth and life in the settled celestial habitations? Barbara was not a girl with much fancy, but some such a thought came into her mind, and might have taken form had not she at the moment seen a dark figure issue from the lane. ‘Who goes there?’ she called imperiously. The figure stopped, and after a moment answered: ‘Oh, Miss! you have a-given me a turn. It be me, Jane.’ ‘And pray,’ said Barbara, ‘what brings you here at night? Whither are you going?’ The girl hesitated, and groped in her mind for an excuse. Then she said: ‘I want, miss, to go to Tavistock.’ ‘To Tavistock! It is too late. Go home to bed.’ ‘I must go, Miss Barbara. I’m sure I don’t want to. I’m scared of my life, but the master have sent me, and what can I do? He’ve a-told me to go to Joseph Woodman.’ ‘It is impossible, at this time. It must not be.’ ‘But, Miss, I promised I’d go, and sure enough I don’t half like it, over those downs at night, and nobody knows what one may meet. I wouldn’t be caught by the Whish Hounds and Black Copplestone, not for’—the girl’s imagination was limited, so she concluded, ‘well, Miss, not for nothing.’