He saw—or heard—the keeper, and crouched under a hedge, holding his breath. Happily for him, the man passed at some distance. His dog barked, but was called to heel, and Pasco did not venture from his lurking-place till ten minutes after the man had gone his way. Then he sprang up and ran, and did not relax his pace till he had reached the river bank, having first floundered through a backwater deep in mire. On the bank was a foot-path, somewhat frequented by lovers at dusk, and Pasco advanced along it stealthily, listening and peering before him at intervals, to make certain that no one approached. The tide was out, the mud exhaled its peculiar and not pleasant odour. Something flopped into it near at hand—whether a bird had dropped, or a stone had been flung, or a flounder had been left by the tide, and beat the mud with his tail, Pasco could not tell. The sound sent the blood with a rush to his heart and turned him sick and giddy. Looking at him over a rail was a white horse. He did not see it until close upon the bank, and then the apparition of the great head turning to him and rubbing its chin on the rail gave him another start, and he almost slipped into the mud beside the path. At length he reached the field adjoining the spit of land on which stood Coombe Cellars; here the path turned towards the village, but there was a way through the hedge to his own house. Pasco took this track, emerged in front of the Cellars, and found the door open, a light shining through the window of his kitchen and Jason Quarm inside. CHAPTER XXXII JASON IN THE WAY Jason had lighted a candle, and had made himself comfortable in the settle. Pepperill stood staring at him in speechless anger and uncertainty. “Where’s the sister? Where’s Kitty?” asked Jason in unconcern. “What are you doing here?” roared Pasco, convulsed with sudden rage. “Is this your house, that you dare come in and use it as your home?” Quarm looked at his brother-in-law in surprise. “Get out of the place at once,” shouted Pasco. “If I happen to go away for ten minutes, is that a reason for every Jack and Tom to come here, as if it was ‘Beggars’ Hall’?” “Why, what on earth has put you out?” “What has put me out? you—by coming in here. This is my house, not yours.” “Brother-in-law,” said Jason, puzzled at the strange humour of Pasco, “is not that a sufficient answer, when I give you that title? Zerah is my sister—I have ever been welcome here. Kate is my daughter—she lives with you. Why am I here? Put it—I have come to see my sister, come to kiss my child.” “Neither is in the house.” “Then where are they?” “I am not bound to answer you,” shouted Pepperill in anger, vexation, and fear, aggravated by the coolness with which Quarm answered him. “Yes, you are. I have ties of blood, and ties of affection, your bad temper can’t snap. I ask, where is my daughter?” “Gone back to the moor.” “That can’t be—alone.”