While the height on the left obstructed his view, and on the right he gazed into the gray mist, which scarcely permitted him to see where to set his feet, the terrible dread increased at every step; it seemed as if every moment the misty curtain must rise to reveal the horrible picture it now concealed, and the height against which it pressed was only there that he might not escape the scene. And there it was! Gotthold stood trembling and staring into the mist with eyes fairly starting from their sockets. It could have been nothing but a trick of his over-excited fancy, for he now saw nothing, nothing at all, and yet he had seen it with perfect distinctness: four or five figures standing in a circle, thrusting long poles into the morass--misty spectres! No, no; no spectres! Or else ghosts could speak with human voices, which he clearly distinguished, although he could not understand the words, and now he even caught a few. "Could it possibly be here?" "No, it was not possible--it was certain; he now knew why he had been so alarmed." The next moment, with a single bound, he had dashed through the tall sedges which, at this spot, enclosed the morass with a broad girdle; the thin covering of turf rose and fell under him--he did not notice it; again and again the water dashed up under his flying feet--he did not heed it; his eyes pierced the mist in the direction from which he had heard the voices, and now heard them again still nearer; and now the figures, which a rift in the mist had just revealed to him, appeared again; he reached them. "Cousin Boslaf!" "Stand farther away, and you others, too! There are too many of us here; the ground won't bear, and I can do it alone." They stepped back; again and again the old man let the long pole, furnished with an iron hook, slide cautiously down into the water which had here formed a small dark pool amid the rushes and nodding grass. Then he drew it out and gave it to one of the men. "There is nothing here. This was the last place, we will go back; keep close behind me; and you too, Gotthold. Tread in my footsteps." The old man, holding his gun on his shoulder, walked forward with the long, regular stride of a huntsman, till the others, among whom was Clas Prebrow, Jochen's brother, found it difficult to keep up with him. He paused several times, and seemed to be trying the ground; but it was only for a few moments, then he moved on into the mist. The men followed without hesitation; they knew they could go on calmly if Cousin Boslaf led the way; and now the ground became firmer and firmer; they were on the very spot from which they had started an hour ago. Cousin Boslaf called Gotthold to his side. "Since when?" asked Gotthold. "At two o'clock this morning; the dogs have been keen on her track; I knew it first three hours ago." "And you still have hope?" The old man gazed into the mist.