As Annabella remained firm in her resolution, the party, after gleaning such scanty information as the man at the station could give, and procuring from him a lantern, set out on their dreary way. Perfect darkness is seldom known in Devon on a night in May, but clouds and the absence of the moon rendered the atmosphere unusually obscure. Strange and phantom-like looked the black shadows of their own forms to the travellers, as the glare of the lantern cast them on the chalky cliffs that bordered their road. The path was rough and steep, strewn with stone boulders here and there, which seemed to have rolled down from the rocky heights above. After a long, toilsome struggle up a gorge, where the countess much needed the aid of the vicar’s arm, the party emerged on the summit of a hill, whence in daylight they would have commanded an extensive prospect. Now faint gleams of summer light alone revealed to them by glimpses what appeared to be a wild, rocky valley, sloping down on the left to the sea, the mournful murmur of whose billows came upon the sighing breeze. Viewed by the imperfect light, the scene was very desolate and drear, and in its gloomy sublimity struck a chill to the heart of Annabella. “It is like the valley of the shadow of death!” she whispered to Ida Aumerle. “Even were it so, dearest,” was the reply, “is it not beyond the dark valley that the land of promise lies?” “To those who are sure of a welcome,” faltered forth the unhappy countess. “I think that I hear the sound of wheels,” observed the vicar; “yes,—some vehicle is evidently slowly ascending the steep hill before us.” “Surely that of Dr. G—— upon its return,” suggested Ida. The idea made all quicken their steps. Ida’s guess had been partially correct; in front was the expected chaise, moving as if towards the station. As soon as the vehicle was sufficiently near, Mr. Aumerle hailed the driver:— “Whence do you come, my friend?” “From Cliff Cottage,” replied a rough voice through the darkness, and then the panting of a horse was heard. “Is it the doctor?” exclaimed Annabella, pressing eagerly forward. “No,” replied the voice. “A gentleman is ill; the doctor is staying the night; I’m to return for him in the morning;” and the speaker cracked his whip as a signal to the weary horse to move forward. Arrangements were speedily made with the driver by Mr. Aumerle; the conveyance was turned round at the first convenient spot, and in it the ladies and the vicar were soon on their way to the cottage in which the Earl of Dashleigh lay ill. Few words were interchanged as the travellers descended the rough, and almost precipitous road; indeed, the violent jolting would, under any circumstances, have rendered conversation impossible. Progress was necessarily slow, and it was some time before the party reached a lonely, shingle-built cottage belonging to a fisherman, which stood almost on the margin of the sea.