examine the ground. He was on rough, coarse grass, with large stones cropping up here and there. This might be the slope of St Catherine’s down, or it might be anywhere. Ralph mounted his horse again. The mist was dense, there was no star or light to be seen in any direction, nor was there any sound of human life. But there was a sound--what was it? Ralph could hear a dull roar, and seething, swishing sound. He could not tell what it was. He had never lived by the sea, or he would have known that it was the swell of the Channel rolling on the shore, and breaking in surf among the rocks of that dangerous coast. He spurred on his horse once more. But after a few strides the horse refused to go further, and backed and reared, as he had never done before. In vain Ralph struck his spurs into his flanks, and urged him or by word and rein. The horse only reared and snorted the more, and swung round on his hind legs, plunging in utterly uncontrolled rebellion. Ralph could not make it out. Never since the animal had been given to him had he known him to be so unmanageable. Seeing how useless it was to press the horse any further, he ceased to try to subdue him to his will, trusting to get the mastery when he had quieted down. As the horse stood still, his flanks quivering with excitement, Ralph noticed a smell of smoke: his senses had become keener since he had lost his way. This smell of smoke caused him to feel more hopeful; where there was smoke there must be a fire, and probably a human habitation. He turned his head round to ascertain where the smell came from, and, as he sniffed the air in various directions, he came to the conclusion that it must be in front of him. Once more he urged his horse forward, but the animal was as determined as ever not to go that way. "What can it be?" thought Ralph, who was beginning to feel a little superstitious, as the tales of goblins and spirits came back to his mind, suggested by the unaccountable noise, the mysterious smoke, and, above all, the remarkable stubbornness of his horse, usually so docile and manageable. For the third time he stuck his spurs against his horse’s sides, encouraging him by his voice at the same time, but with the same result--not one step forward would the animal take. "Young man, didst thou never hear of Balaam?" said a deep voice, proceeding, apparently, directly from under the horse’s head, and in another moment a tall black figure rose out of the darkness, so close as almost to touch Ralph, who could not restrain a shudder of supernatural dread at the suddenness of the strange appearance. *CHAPTER VIII.* *HOW THE COCKEREL GOT A FALL.* "What art thou?" stammered Ralph, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise. "What dost thou mean by thy talk of Balaam?" "Look, boy, and thou wilt see," answered the dark figure, which every second was becoming more clearly defined in the gloom.