In a short time the same voice, with the same uncertain echo among the trees, cried faintly, 'Mark--Mark,' and then a pause; then again, 'Mark--Mark--Mark,' and then it grew more distant, and sounded among the trees and reverberations of the glen like laughter. 'Mark--ha--ha--hark--ha--ha--ha--hark--Mark--Mark--ha--ha--hark!' 'Who's there?' cried the attorney, in a tone rather ferocious from fright, and stamping on the path. But his summons and the provocation died away together in the profoundest silence. Mr. Jos. Larkin did not repeat his challenge. This cry of 'Mark!' was beginning to connect itself uncomfortably in his mind with his speculations about his wealthy client, which in that solitude and darkness began to seem not so entirely pure and disinterested as he was in the habit of regarding them, and a sort of wood-demon, such as a queer little schoolfellow used long ago to read a tale about in an old German story-book, was now dogging his darksome steps, and hanging upon his flank with a vindictive design. Jos. Larkin was not given to fancy, nor troubled with superstition. His religion was of a comfortable, punctual, business-like cast, which according with his genius--denied him, indeed, some things for which, in truth, he had no taste--but in no respect interfered with his main mission upon earth, which was getting money. He had found no difficulty hitherto in serving God and Mammon. The joint business prospered. Let us suppose it was one of those falterings of faith, which try the best men, that just now made him feel a little queer, and gave his thoughts about Mark Wylder, now grown habitual, that new and ghastly complexion which made the situation so unpleasant. He wished himself more than once well out of this confounded pass, and listened nervously for a good while, and stared once more, half-frightened, in various directions, into the darkness. 'If I thought there could be anything the least wrong or reprehensible--we are all fallible--in my allowing my mind to turn so much upon my client, I can certainly say I should be very far from allowing it--I shall certainly consider it--and I may promise myself to decide in a Christian spirit, and if there be a doubt, to give it against myself.' This resolution, which was, he trusted, that of a righteous man, was, I am afraid, the effect rather of fright than reflection, and employed in that sense somewhat in the manner of an exorcism--whispered rather to the ghost than to his conscience. I am sure Larkin did not himself suppose this. On the contrary, he really believed, I am convinced, that he scouted the ghost, and had merely volunteered this salutary self-examination as an exercise of conscience. He could not, however, have doubted that he was very nervous--and that he would have been glad of the companionship even of one of the Gylingden shopkeepers, through this infested bit of wood.