That she should have lost all count of the true positions of hill-top and of village; that north and south, east and west, should be as one to her consciousness; that in the fog she should not know whether she was going uphill or downhill; that when she supposed herself to be following a straight line, she was describing a semi-circle which brought her indeed within half-a-mile of the lost track, but to a part of the fell which beyond every other ought to have been avoided—all this was miles from her imagination. It did occur as curious that the fog should thicken instead of lessening as she—according to her belief—neared the moor-edge. But the advance of evening might account for so much. The track must now be close, and she hurried on, shivering with the clammy atmosphere. The heavy shawl still hung over her left shoulder; and lifting its front folds she flung them over her right shoulder, for warmth. She was growing anxious, and because she would not give in to the feeling, she hurried on more recklessly, not noting how Wiggles hung back. Ah, here was boggy ground. "I must keep clear of that," she thought, being used to such patches on the moors. Many a time she had crossed them, springing from root to root of heather, deftly avoiding insecure parts. A yelp made her glance round. Nose in air, with cocked ear, Wiggles had made out something which failed to reach her duller senses. Then he was off, regardless of her recall. Perhaps he knew that disobedience had become a duty. Phyllys hesitated, but she could not follow, for he was out of sight, swallowed up in the white curtain. She supposed that he had caught sight of some small creature, and had started in chase. He would be back directly, and would find her. She scanned her limited circle of visibility. In front and to the right lay an expanse of green—bright green, so far as anything could be bright in such an atmosphere. It was mottled with red and yellow, variegated moss-hues; and dotted with clumps of rushes. Here and there grew the white-tufted cotton-grass; and wiry bog-grass of an olive-green with red tintings might be seen in abundance. Despite the dulness, these colours, which in sunshine would have been ominously brilliant, suggested a need for caution. She could not see far. She did not suspect that this was no mere patch of boggy soil—that a wide reach of treacherous slime, with only a thin coating of moss and grass, a death-trap for the unwary, lay around. On a clear day she would have read tokens of peril in the very brightness of colouring, which alike concealed and revealed the deadly danger. But though she had been in sunshine to this place, and had been warned of the trap which that fair surface offered, she never dreamt that she was now on its verge.