‘Come along, here’s the pop-shop!’ he said. The child ran forward and knelt above a tiny cup of peat fringed with yellow stars of butterwort. He lapped up the precious stuff eagerly like a dog, so greedily that he choked, spluttered, and soused his white lace collar. Mary wiped his face for him. ‘Go on!’ said Abner, and she too stooped her aching back and drank. Abner drank last, having laid Gladys down in the yielding heather and scooped up water for her in his hands. Now they were refreshed, almost joyful; but Mary could not help looking anxiously at the hills in front of them, for every moment it seemed to her that the heather grew blacker and the distance fainter in the mist. A crest that had once seemed unattainable fell behind them. Reaching it they had expected to find themselves looking down into the Wolfpits valley. Instead of this they saw more broken walls and the outlines of two huge trees. It puzzled them. It seemed that they had come to the edge of a shallow basin scooped in the top of the hills. Perhaps they might find a farm. The idea encouraged them. They walked forward more quickly, for here the turf was smooth and the heather no longer impeded them. The trees came up out of the mist, not only two of them but a whole avenue of beeches planted by the hands of men, stretching away before them in the line that they had followed. ‘There must be a house,’ said Mary. ‘They wouldn’t plant trees like this for nothing.’ Abner nodded. In spite of his air of gaiety he had been anxious and was now relieved. It was a noble avenue of more than a hundred trees. They walked on midway between the two lines of them, expecting at every moment to see the shadow of the house. But the avenue ended suddenly as it had begun, and instead of a house they saw nothing but two gateposts of stone, ancient and weathered, surmounted by immense round balls. The man who had built them two hundred years before had planned a stately approach to his mansion. It was easy to imagine the gates of wrought iron that would have swung there. But of the house that he had dreamed there remained not as much as a ghost. ‘There must be a house!’ Mary cried. Abner shook his head. Nothing could now be seen but the desolate line of the beech avenue stretching away behind them. A light wind rose on their right, driving the mist in front of it. They seemed to hear the endless volumes of it hurrying by, but it was only the long sighing of a waste of heather. This sound made Mary really aware of the threatening silence that surrounded them. Even the presence of Abner standing there as stolid and unmoved as ever could not steady her. ‘We can’t stay here,’ she said. ‘It’s an awful place. It’s like a churchyard. Do let us go on.’