“LACEY.” Silence ... and then a hubbub of mingled expostulation and jubilance broke out. Ursula darted away from conflict, into the house, into the pantry, and seized the cowering Wenn by the arm: “You’ve got to come out and face it.” “I--I--ted’n no business of mine.” “Yes, it is. Your tenant is burying himself all over the garden. Come out.” He stood petrified, but she dragged him along with her.... Nobody in the garden. No human voice. The white mist was clotted densely where Tody and the Major, Miss Gregson and her Eye-talian, the Abbotts and the mournful American, had stood disputing in all languages, three minutes before. All gone. A spell might have broken loose from ancient Cornish magic, and, drifting that way, enchanted them into bramble-bushes. Only the siren at Polpinnock Head still hooted dolorously, and at the high bend of the invisible road, a ghostly jingle rattled on its way. Wenn sighed with relief: “I’ll be getting along home,” he said, “these damp fogs, they gnaw into my bones.... We fixed that matter up all right, Mrs. Barrison--I like to be friends with everybody....” And he, too, departed. [XII] HALF an hour later, Doug returned from Grey Stone. “My cabin looks top-hole,” he began enthusiastically. “I say, who d’you think’s here? Miss Gregson and her Eye-talian. They’re in the bar-parlour of the ‘Dog and Pilchard,’ lapping up hot whisky as pally as anything with those Allingham-Jones people and a fellow with a long beard and an American twang. I dropped in for a drink on my way home from Grey Stone. This infernal fog--it’s like breathing damp wool--I expect they’ll all be rolling up here presently. I say, Teddy, you should see my cabin now----” “We’ve got to get away from here,” said Ursula, speaking quietly, but with a steady taut unreason which was her form of hysteria. “I don’t care where we go or what we leave behind, but I’m not going to settle down. Things grow over us ... here. Parc Gooth--I’ve got Parc Gooth on the brain. Stuck there like a burr. Let’s go tonight, Doug--please.... Oh, _please_ let’s go tonight.” “My dear old kid,” Doug began. Then: “You’re tired out. Moving’s the devil. I’m going to carry you upstairs and put you to bed! And if you want a good cry, you shall have it.” He advanced towards her, large and ruddy and cheerful, his arms outstretched. Ursula shrank.