Shortly before the moon arose, and long after sunset, Maggie crept down the attic stairs, unlatched the house door, and stepped out into the quiet village street. Her fear was that some neighbors would see her, and either insist on accompanying her on her errand, or bring her home. The village, however, was very quiet that night, and at nine o'clock, when Maggie started on her search, there were very few people out. She came quickly to the top of the small street, crossed a field, squeezed through a gap in the hedge, and found herself on the borders of Peg-Top Moor. The moon was bright by this time, and there was no fear of Maggie not seeing. She stepped over the ground briskly, a solitary little figure with a long shadow ever stalking before her, and a beating, defiant heart in her breast. She had quite determined that whatever agony she went through, her fears should not conquer her; she would fight them down with a strong hand, she would go forward on her road, come what might. Maggie was an ignorant little cottager, and there were many folk-lore tales abroad with regard to the moor which might have frightened a stouter heart than hers. She believed fully in the ghost who was to be seen when the moon was at the full, pacing slowly up and down, through that plantation of trees at her right; she had unswerving faith in the bogey who uttered terrific cries, and terrified the people who were brave enough to walk at night through Deadman's Glen. But she believed more fully still in Polly, in Polly's love and despair, and in the sacredness of the errand which she was now undertaking to deliver her from her trouble. From Mrs. Ricketts' cottage to the hermit's hut there lay a stretch of moorland covering some miles in extent, and Maggie knew that the lonely journey she was taking could not come to a speedy end. She knew, however, that she had got on the right track and that by putting one foot up and one foot down, as the children do who want to reach London town, she also at last would come to her destination. The moon shone brightly, and the little maid, her shadow always going before her, stepped along bravely. Now and then that same shadow seemed to assume gigantic and unearthly proportions, but at other times it wore a friendly aspect, and somewhat comforted the young traveler. "It's more or less part of me," quoth Maggie, "and I must say as I'm glad I have it, it's better nor nought; but oh ain't the moon fearsome, and don't my heart a-flutter, and a pit-a-pat! I'm quite sure now, yes, I'm quite gospel sure that ef I was to meet the wife of Micah Jones, I'd fall flat down dead at her feet. Oh, how fearsome is this moor! Well, ef I gets hold of Miss Pearl I'll never set foot an it again. No, not even for a picnic, and the grandest seat at the feast, and the best of the victuals."