That Phyllys should not have retreated on finding the state of things perplexed him. Yet, had she done so, he must have met her. He wondered, was she one of those people who, once resolved on a course of action, stick to that course, whatever happens? He would not have credited her with obstinacy. He did credit her with unusual fearlessness. The track, though faint, was distinct; visible by different shades of colouring in the turf, the impress of passing feet. It was clearer than many such tracks, being used a good deal in fine weather between Midfell and a village on the other side. Here and there it was broken by a rough outcrop of rock; but despite the fog, Giles had no difficulty in picking it up again. And Phyllis was accustomed to such walking. She might have thought it wiser to keep steadily on, rather than to retrace her steps. No voice of man or beast, of bird or insect, interrupted the silence. No stir in the air moved the heavy white curtain which hung around, shutting him in a contracted circle which moved with him as he went. The great moor-billows stretched away, he knew, for miles; but he could not see them. Landscape and sky were blotted out. And Phyllys was alone in this! He walked rapidly, expecting every minute to descry a slim figure ahead. Not far ahead, for beyond a few yards, he could make out nothing. Now and again a shadowy form heaved into view, raising his hopes; and each time it grew into a furze-bush, dank and wet. Moro than once he stopped, noting what looked like a short-cut to the lower level over Midfell, though no track was apparent. Phyllys might have ventured on some such short-cut. Yet, no—acquainted as she was with the country, she would understand the risk of quitting her path. The farmer had assured him that there was but the one way. He thought less of faint side-tracks, branching at right angles towards upper heights. These plainly led from Midfell, and would not have tempted Phyllys. Still no signs of her! He pressed on, in deepening uneasiness; and sooner than might have seemed possible, he reached the verge, where a steep descent led downward to the top of a hill behind the village. Here, being nearer the moor-edge, the air was clearer, and he could see some way. But—no Phyllys! She could not so far have distanced him. No girl, even with the start she had had, could have failed to be overtaken at the pace he had come. With sickening dread, he realised that she was still upon the moors, that she had left the track. "Nonsense!" he said, pulling himself together. "Too soon to be sure. She may have come faster than I imagine. She 'may' have missed her way, and be waiting near." He turned to retrace his steps. If indeed she had advanced so far as this, she would easily manage to get home. His business now was to be sure that she had not failed; and while he encouraged himself his heart sank anew.