He measured the space at a glance, and tested the boggy earth with his stick, to find a spot which would bear his weight. Whatever he felt, he was composed, and she now made no sound, but lay motionless on her loathsome bed. The white brave face—so much as he could see of it, which was little—went to his heart. Three steps, taken in a direct line, would have carried him within reach; but those steps were impossible. A few feet farther he found a tongue of firm ground jutting into the bog, and this brought him nearer to where she lay. Not yet within touch—a single long step would do the business, but he sought in vain for standing ground. She was sinking—visibly—and his dread was that she might go under. Few though the moments were since his arrival, he saw a change. The mud here was drier, less soft than farther out. He pulled off his coat, spread it upon the boggy surface, and went down full length, creeping gingerly towards her. "Don't struggle; keep still and trust yourself to me," he said. Never in after-life would Phyllys forget what the first grip of his hand meant after the past interminable horror. She obeyed him, and did not struggle—at what a cost of will she alone knew. For still the slime was around, and during one terrible moment it seemed that Giles was sinking, that her last hope was gone. But slowly he drew her towards himself; then worked his way to firmer turf, where his feet rested; and as he went, he pulled her with him. He was on it at last, kneeling deep sunk in "saft" earth, but not drawn under. Another moment, and he had regained his feet; another, and they were on solid ground. "Come this way—farther," he said. He stood still, breathing hard, and Phyllys said nothing. She could not speak at first, the awfulness of what she had escaped rendering her dumb. She was a mass of black mud, except the head; and Giles was clothed in the same. "Thank God I was in time!" he faltered, and the break in his voice made her look up. "I can't thank you—" she tried to say, and because a lump in her throat choked her, she laughed. "What a state we are both in!" The laugh grated on her own hearing, but not on his, for he read in the strain of its unnatural tone a fresh effort of her undaunted courage. She stood gazing towards where she had fallen. "If you had not come just when you did, I should have been—" "Don't!" he entreated. She gave him a wistful glance. "Isn't it strange? Just one step wrong, and everything nearly at an end. No going to Castle Hill!" He knew this was not lightness. Her limbs shook, and she was ashen. "Come," he said, and he led her farther. "The question is how we are to get to Midfell." "I know about where we are. There's a path near—if we could find it. It leads straight to the village,—and to a farm half way, where we might stop." "A good plan. Wiggles will lead us; he brought me to you."