And Barbara thrust in a reply before Mrs. Wyverne could speak. "Gone on the moors," she said, purposely vague, under a suspicion that he would wish to follow. She over-reached herself. "The moors—to-day? With whom, may I ask?" "Phyllis goes everywhere. She is used to it, and the dog is ample protection." "You do not mean that she is alone!" His concern annoyed Barbara. "Of course, she will not go far. Phyllys knows what she is about. She merely meant to cross part of a hill on her way back." "From where?" He had to put the question a second time, and facts were dragged out with difficulty. "Thackers' Farm. Yes, I know the direction. I had better go after her. The moors will be foggy." "A touch of mist." Barbara spoke in vexed accents. "It will be more than a touch of mist in an hour or two." His manner aroused Mrs. Wyverne to uneasiness. She was too old an inhabitant of Midfell not to understand what a fog on the fells meant. "I did not know it," she said; "or that Phyllys meant to cross the moor. Surely you told her not to do so, Barbara. Not—alone!" "She ought to have sense enough to judge for herself." Barbara frowned and bit her lips. "The child is so fearless," murmured Mrs. Wyverne. "I will start at once, and I hope to reach the farm before she leaves it. You may trust me to look after her. If I do not meet her on the road, I shall overtake her on the moor. The fog perhaps is not much now, but it may thicken." As he reached the door, he turned. "You told Phyllys I was coming?" The direct words claimed a direct answer. Mrs. Wyverne, forgetful in small matters, looked at Barbara, who had to admit that Phyllys did not know. A slight smile stirred Giles' lips. Phyllys had not of her own free will avoided him. One or two inquiries in the village as to the route made all clear, and he was off at his best pace—a pace few men could rival. By road the distance was over five miles; and he made little of them, spurred by observation of the grey-capped fells. He knew enough of moorland to be aware that a fog, exceptional in density, covered the heights; and he was anxious, if possible, to intercept Phyllys at the farm. But on arrival, he found she had started fifteen minutes earlier; and since he had not met her, she must have gone the other way. The old farmer heard this with a shake of his head. "Noa, I doan't knaw," he said. "I'm a negligent lad not to ha' ma-ade her go by t' ro-ad. Miss Phyllys ought to ha' knawed better." "Miss Phyllys is not easily frightened," remarked Giles. "Will you tell me the way she has gone?" He wasted no time, and was off again. A rough lane, besprinkled with stones, led to the edge of the moor; after which he had a grass track to guide him. It led upward, crossing a high spur, shortening the distance to Midfell by more than a mile. No mistake here about the "mistiness." Every dozen yards the air grow thicker, as he widened his distance from the edge.