Then, as he received no reply, he called again, "You must not remain where you are." With a long staff he smote to right and left among the burning bushes, sending up volumes of flying fiery sparks, and then he came to her, leaping over the fire, and avoiding the tongues of flame that shot after him maliciously as he passed. "What!" he exclaimed, as he stood before the girl and observed her. Against the ink-black, lichened rock, her face, strongly illumined, could be clearly seen. "What! Urith Malvine?" She looked steadily at him out of her dark, gloomy eyes, and said, "Yes, I am Urith. What brings you here, Anthony Cleverdon?" "On my faith, I might return the question," said he, laughing shortly. "But this is not the place, nor is this the time, for tossing questions like shuttlecocks on Shrove Tuesday. However, to satisfy you, I will tell you that I came out in search of some ponies of my father's--scared by the fires and lost. But come, Urith, you cannot escape unaided through this hoop of flame, and now that you are contented with knowing why I am here, you will let me help you away." "I did not ask you to help me." "No, but I am come, unasked." He stooped and caught her up. "Put your arms around my neck," said he. "The fire will not injure me, as I am in my riding boots, but your skirts invite the flame." Then he wrapped together her gown about her feet, and holding her on his left arm, with the right brandishing his staff, he fought his way back. The scorching breath rushed about them, ten thousands of starry sparks, and whirled round and over them. He took a leap, and bounded over and through a sheet of flame and landed in safety. He at once strode with his burden to the pile of rocks where were no bushes to lead on the fire--only short swath, and a few green rushes full of sap. "Look, Urith," said he, after he had recovered breath, "between us and the next Tor--whose name, by the Lord, I don't know, but which I take to be the arm-chair of Lilith, the Devil's grandam--do you see?--the very earth is a-fire." "How, the earth?" "The peat is so dry that it has ignited, and will smoulder down into its depths for weeks, for months, mayhap, till a Swithurn month of rains has extinguished it. I have known a moor burn like this all through the summer, and he that put an unwary foot thereon was swallowed like the company of Korah in underground fire." The girl made no reply. She had not thanked the young man for having delivered her from the precarious position in which she had been. "Where am I?" she asked, turning her head about. "On Devil Tor." "How far from home?" "What--from Willsworthy?" "Yes, from Willsworthy, of course. That is my home." "You want to find your way back? How did you come here?" "You ask me two questions. Naturally, I want to get to my home. As for how I came here--on my feet. I went forth alone on the moor." "And lost your way?" "Certainly, or I would not be here. I lost my way."