Brigid caught up her dress, sped forward hot-footed. Two thoughts were in her mind as she ran; one, that had she been closer on the scent there had been danger of the figure turning, and thereby detecting her in the open space of park, the trees being set wide apart; the other, that, should the pursued attain to the cross-roads up yonder before she once more gained sight of her, the scent would be truly lost, pursuit well-nigh hopeless, since of the end of this midnight roaming she had no inkling. This latter thought in mind she called the saints to her aid, and sped the faster. Though sound of wind and limb she was breathless as she breasted the top of the rise, had perforce to pause a moment’s space; then she was on again, this time along a road. Turning a bend of it some hundred yards or so from the crossways, she saw the figure ahead of her, and thereupon put up a fervent thanksgiving. Slacking speed on the instant she crept cautiously along in the shadow of the hedge, keeping to the rough grass close below it, fearful lest the sound of her footfall should betray her pursuit. At the cross-roads the figure turned to the left, Brigid following warily enough. The pace now giving time for reflection other than of mere pursuit, she fell to marvelling what this mad ramble portended. Had she not observed the half-scared glance towards the Castle she might have deemed Isabel sleep-walking, but having seen it this chance notion was dismissed with no second thought. There was purpose in this journey, and that a very definite one. But what purpose? Brigid cudgelled her brains to no end. A less clean mind than hers might have seen some dishonourable meeting ahead. Of such she had no thought. Frankly puzzled she found no solution of the riddle. Of what aid she might be in the matter afoot she thought not then any more than she had thought at the outset. Possibly at first curiosity had pricked her to the pursuit, though to my thinking it was chiefly some unconscious instinct of protection. Presently the road divided, leftwards descending in a gentle decline, to the right branching in a rough track across the moorland. Isabel turned to the right. Dodging in the shadow of gorse bushes Brigid followed her. Verily must the matter on hand be of great moment. For no mere wild goose chase could Isabel be pursuing this desolate path at night. Dawning fatigue in a degree dulling interest Brigid began to experience some slight tremor at the loneliness to which she had come. The moorland stretched before her and on either hand, a vast undulating space broken by gorse bushes, distantly fringed by woods lying like dark patches in the moonlight. Once, far to the right, she caught a glimpse of moving antlers, where a herd of deer roamed among the heather. Awe at the silence and stillness clutched at her heart. Again she cried upon the saints. If you will believe me, Brigid gave them scant rest that night.