"An' then, you lives all alone in that theer ghashly 'Oller—an' you fights, an' struggles wi' devils an' demons, all in the wind an' rain an' tearin' tempest—an' what's most of all—you comes back—alive; an' what's more yet, wi' devil-marks upon ye an' your throat all tore wi' claws. Old Gaffer be over proud o' findin' ye, but old Gaffer be dodderin'—dodderin' 'e be, an' fulish wi' years; 'e'd ha' done much better to ha' left ye alone—I've heerd o' folk sellin' theirselves to the devil afore now, I've likewise heerd o' the 'Evil Eye' afore now—ah! an' knows one when I sees it." "Nonsense!" said I sternly, "nonsense! This talk of ghosts and devils is sheer folly. I am a man, like the rest of you, and could not wish you ill—even if I would—come, let us all shake hands, and forget this folly!" and I extended my hand to Old Amos. He glanced from it to my face, and immediately, lowering his eyes, shook his head. "'Tis the 'Evil Eye'!" said he, and drew across upon the floor with his stick, "the 'Evil Eye'!" "Nonsense!" said I again; "my eye is no more evil than yours or Job's. I never wished any man harm yet, nor wronged one, and I hope I never may. As for Mr. Dutton's pigs, if he take better care of them, and keep them out of the damp, they will probably thrive better than ever—come, shake hands!" But, one by one, they edged their way to the door after Old Amos, until only John Pringle was left; he, for a moment, stood hesitating, then, suddenly reaching out, he seized my hand, and shook it twice. "I'll call for they 'orseshoes in the marnin', Peter," said he, and vanished. "Arter all," I heard him say, as he joined the others, "'tis summat to ha' shook 'ands wi' a chap as fights wi' demons!" CHAPTER XI A SHADOW IN THE HEDGE Over the uplands, to my left, the moon was peeping at me, very broad and yellow, as yet, casting long shadows athwart my way. The air was heavy with the perfume of honeysuckle abloom in the hedges—a warm, still air wherein a deep silence brooded, and in which leaf fluttered not and twig stirred not; but it was none of this I held in my thoughts as I strode along, whistling softly as I went. Yet, in a while, chancing to lift my eyes, I beheld the object of my reverie coming towards me through the shadows. "Why—Charmian!" said I, uncovering my head. "Why—Peter!" "Did you come to meet me?" "It must be nearly nine o'clock, sir." "Yes, I had to finish some work." "Did any one pass you on the road?" "Not a soul." "Peter, have you an enemy?" "Not that I know of, unless it be myself. Epictetus says somewhere that—" "Oh, Peter, how dreadfully quiet everything is!" said she, and shivered. "Are you cold?" "No—but it is so dreadfully—still."