"Margaret!" he called, involuntarily. The earth-cloud of mist closed round her, and the shadowy figure faded away. On he went again, stumbling in the ruts left by wheels in winter, nearly thrown by the tough heath, and the crooked furze stems holding his foot, and fast losing his wind. He struggled up the slope, and finally, perforce, came to a striding walk. Suddenly he stopped--a low neigh floated in the stillness up from a vale on his left. Her path turned there, then; he would cut across the angle. But, taught by experience, he paused at the edge of the descent, and listened before going down. In a minute or two another faint clicking of flints sounded behind him. "By Jove, I begin to think--aha!" The flints clicked in the stillness away on his right. Then after a brief while a dark indistinct object crossed in front of him. "All round me," said Geoffrey, aloud. "I understand." He bounded forward, refreshed by his short pause. In three minutes the dark object resolved itself into the chestnut, standing still now on the verge of a gloomy hollow. Then, close upon his quarry, the hunter slackened speed. It was his turn now; he strolled slowly, halted, even turned his back upon her, and looked up at the sky. The stars were shining; till that moment he had not realised that it was night. By-and-by he went nearer. "Geoffrey!" she called, faintly. No reply. "Geoffrey!"--louder--"is that you?" "Yes, dear." The first time he had used the word to her. "Do come to me!" in a tone of distress. He ran eagerly to her side. "It is dark," she said, in a low voice, "and--and I have lost the way." "I thought you had; you rode all round me." "Did I? O, then I am lost, indeed; that is what people always do when they are lost on the hills--they go round and round in a circle. Where is your horse?" "I left him lame, a long way behind." "How unfortunate! And `Kitty'"--stroking the mare's neck--"is weary too. But perhaps you know the way--try and look." He did look round to please her, but with little hope. It was not indeed dark--unless there are clouds, the nights of summer are not dark--but the dimness that results from uncertain definition was equally bewildering. The vales were full of white mist; the plains visible near at hand grew vague as the eye tried to trace a way across. The hills, just where the ridges rose high, could be seen against the sky, but the ranges mingled and the dark slopes faded far away into the mist. Each looked alike--there was no commanding feature to fix the vision; hills after hills, grey shadowy plains, dusky coombes and valleys, dimly seen at hand and shapeless in the distance. Then he stooped and searched in vain for continuous ruts or hoof marks or any sign of track. She watched him earnestly. "It is difficult to make out," he said. "You know I am a stranger to these Downs." "Yes, yes; what shall we do? I shall not reach Greene Ferne to-night."