He approached the trunk and edged around it. As he did so a form moved around the trunk also. Hervey paused. The pounding of his heart seemed louder than the noises of the storm. In his throat was a queer burning sensation. He could not speak. He could not stir. The dark form moved again, ever so little.... CHAPTER VII THE LIGHT THAT FAILED The suspense was worse than any outcome could be, and Hervey, in another impulse of desperation, took a step to the right, then quickly another to the left. This ruse brought the two face to face. And in a flash Hervey realized that he had little to fear from one who had tried so desperately to escape his notice. The figure was that of a young man, his raiment torn and disordered and utterly drenched. He wore a plaid cap, which being pulled down over his ears by reason of the wind, gave him an appearance of toughness which his first words belied. "You needn't be afraid," he said. "I'm not afraid," said Hervey. "Who are you?" "Did you hear some one scream?" the stranger asked. "Scream? No. It was the wind, I guess. Are you lost, or what?" "I want to get out of here, that's all," the young man said. "This place is full of children screaming. Did you ever kill anybody?" "No," said Hervey, somewhat agitated. The stranger placed a trembling hand on Hervey's shoulder. "Do you know a person can scream after he's dead?" he said. "I don't know," said Hervey, somewhat alarmed and not knowing what to say. "Anyway, I have to hurry; it's up to me to save some people's lives. There's a bridge washed away along the road." He did not wait longer to talk with this singular stranger, but thoughts of the encounter lingered in his mind, particularly the young fellow's speech about dead people and children screaming. As he hurried on, Hervey concluded that the stranger was demented and had probably wandered away from some village in the neighborhood. He had reason later to recall this encounter, but he soon forgot it in the more urgent matter of reaching the road. He had now about half a mile of level country to traverse, consisting of fields separated by stone walls. The land was soggy, and here and there in the lower places were areas of water. These he would not take the time to go around, but plunged through them, often going knee deep into the marshy bottom. It was sometimes with difficulty that he was able to extricate his leg from these soggy entanglements. But he no longer needed the uncertain outline of that black mass amid the surrounding blackness to guide him, for now the cheerful lights of an isolated house upon the road shone in the distance. There was the road, sure enough, though he could not see it. "That's what Slady calls deduction," he panted, as he trudged on, running when he could, and dragging his heavy, mud-bedraggled feet out of the mire every dozen steps or so. Over a stone wall he went and scrambled to his feet and hastened on.