Dare he leave the child behind at all? Yet if he took her he would be putting her to greater risks every moment than the worst she could suffer from Mistress Mowbray. Besides how could the expenses be met; for the scheme would be impossible without horses; as, although he himself could escape alone on foot, immediately Aline disappeared a hue and cry would be raised? His mind grew tired with thinking and finally he began to build wild castles in the air, in which he took the child with him on foot and fought pursuer after pursuer, until he was slain himself, not however before he had managed to put Aline into a sure place of safety and happiness. He had wandered rather further than usual down the stream and decided that he had better turn back; moreover it was late and it would soon be daylight. He retraced his steps until he came within a few paces of the opening that led to the cave and was intending to enter, when he caught sight of a dark figure seated under a small birch tree that had found a sheltering place in this hollow on the bleak moor. It was a woman and she was watching him. The shock was so sudden that he had the greatest difficulty in preserving his presence of mind. He decided to continue in the direction he was going as though bound on some definite journey. “You like the night-air, stranger, for your travels,” she said in a shrill voice. She evidently did not mean to let him pass her. “Ay, mother,” he said, “a night like this is as good for travel as the day.” He gathered at once who it was from Aline’s description. It was “Moll o’ the graves,” and she seemed to rivet him to the spot with the gaze of her unholy, but still beautiful eyes. She was holding a bone in her claw-like hands and was gnawing the flesh off it. He could not help noticing that she yet had excellent teeth. Could she by any chance know who he was? In any case she had seen him now, so he might stand and see if he could draw her out. However, she went on,--“I’ve heard physicians recommend the night air for travellers with a sick conscience.” “Then if that be the case,” he answered, “it might apply to you as well as to me.” “Perhaps it may,” she said, “but I enjoy the fresh night air for its own sake:-- O Moon that watches from the sky, We see strange things, the moon and I.” crooned the old woman, beating time with her staff. “Do you know this part of the world?” she said suddenly. “I cannot say that I do,” he answered. “Then you miss things that are worth knowing. There are all manners of folk about here from the Master of Holwick to miser Simson, from bullying Eleanor Mowbray to gentle Janet Arnside, and from tough, withered, bloodless old Elspeth to fresh tender morsels like Aline that dropped in the moat,” she said as she grinned, shewing her teeth, “and I know the fortunes of them all.” The old woman was eyeing him keenly, but he managed to betray no particular interest.