"Assuredly I am repentant when I have gnawed my hands, for they are full of pain." He turned away. The girl disturbed him. The young man was not accustomed to meet with damsels who were not honey and cream, smiles and allurements--the frank avowal of savagery in Urith, mingled with the consciousness that she exerted over him a certain fascination against which he had no counter-spell, caused him uneasiness. He turned abruptly round and went forward with lowered head, and the vapours recently lifted from his brain began to settle over them again. Presently he came to the side of a foaming tumbling river. He halted, and, without looking into Urith's face, said---- "Now we have come to the Walla, and my cob has been restive at crossing water to-day, shall I help you to dismount? You can go over by the stepping-stones. I must ride him across." He put forth his hand, but she slipped to her feet unassisted, and handed to him the crop or long-lashed whip that had hung at the saddle-bow, but which she had taken in hand. "Yes," he said, "I shall require the crop." Then he leaped into the saddle and spurred the horse down into the water. Urith tripped along the stones till she reached a broad block in the midst of the river. She found no difficulty in crossing, as the light overhead mirrored itself in the water, making of the Walla a very Phlegethon. But for the same reason Anthony's cob objected to enter. He reared and plunged, and when whipped and spurred, wheeled about. Urith watched the futile efforts of her companion. Presently she called to Anthony, "The cob will go into the water if you pat him. You further frighten him by your violence when he is already frightened. The river seems to roll down fire and blood." "What!" laughed Anthony; "will you teach me how to manage a horse?" "I have had to do with horses every whit as much as yourself," she replied. "Remember, I am the Wild Maid of the Moors." He made no reply, but again essayed to force the cob to enter the water. Suddenly Urith, still stationed in midstream, uttered an exclamation of surprise, not unmingled with alarm. She saw black figures emerge on the hill shoulder, visible against the lurid sky, and then descend along the Lyke-Way, coming along the same track, in the same direction. At once there rushed upon her the stories she had heard of ghostly trains of mourners, sweeping at night along this road, and of the ill-luck that attended such as cast eyes on them. "Look!--look!" she exclaimed, now in real terror. "Who are they?--what are they? They are following us, Anthony Cleverdon! Do not let us see them more. Do not let them overtake us." CHAPTER III. CAUGHT UP ON THE WAY.