It was now utterly dark. They saw nothing, heard nothing, but the small continuous voice of the hot, dry night. They were rested; to Joan and Aderhold especially there seemed to have come anew youth and strength. They walked steadily, with a swinging step, and the country fell behind them and the sea grew nearer. They spoke only at long intervals and then in whispers. “Luck’s with us,” offered Gervaise. “I’d almost rather see it more chequered! Very Smooth always has a mocking look in her eyes.” Lantern growled in his throat. “I haven’t had much smooth in _my_ life. It owes me a little smooth.” The moon rose. It showed them on either hand a rolling country, and before them a village. The road ran through this; therefore, for the time being, they would leave the road. They crept through a hedge and found themselves in a rough and broken field. Crossing this they pierced a small wood and dipped down to a stream murmuring past a mill. The great wheel rose before them, the moon making pearls of the dripping water. The stream had a footbridge. They hesitated, but all was dark and silent. They crossed, and as they stepped upon the beaten earth on the farther side, two dogs sprang upon them from the shadow of the mill. They came barking furiously—the refugees snatched what stick or stone they could reach and beat them back. One was cowardly and stood off and barked, but the other, a great black beast, sprang upon the first in his path. It chanced to be Joan. She caught him by his own throat before he could reach hers, but he was fierce and strong and tore from her grasp. His teeth met in the cloth of her jerkin, he dragged her to the ground. Aderhold’s hands were at his throat, choking his jaws open, pushing him backward. Over the physician’s bent shoulder Lantern’s arm rose and fell, the moon making the dagger gleam. The dog loosened his grip, howled, and gave back with a slashed and bleeding muzzle. Out of a hut, built beside the mill, came a man’s voice, roughly threatening. “Who’s there? Who’s there? Ill-meaning folk take warning!” As they did not answer, the owner of the voice burst from the hut and came toward them, shouting to the dogs to hold fast and swinging a great thorn stick. The moon showed a half-dressed, stout rustic, bold enough but dull of wit, and still heavy, besides, with sleep. Behind him came a half-grown boy. “Call off your dogs!” cried Gervaise. “We are seamen ashore, making from the port to the town of —--. They told us there was a village hereabouts, and we kept on walking after night, thinking to come to it. But we think it’s bewitched and walks as we walk. Call your dogs off! We’re harmless men, used to the sea and crossing a strange country. Put us right, friend, and thank you kindly!” “What have you done to Holdfast? He’s frighted and bleeding.” “He pulled one of us down and nothing else served to make him loosen grip. ’Twill heal and no harm done!”