With this thought I gave my horse the rein.  He was a beautiful high-blooded creature, and seemed to delight in making the snow crystals fly around him, as he scampered over the frozen ground.

I did not know the district at all, but I had been told in what direction Drearwater Pond lay, so I did not doubt that I should easily find them.  When I came to the spot, however, those I hoped to find were nowhere to be seen, and so, guiding the horse up to the dark waters, I stood and looked at the little lake that bore such a sombre name.  It was indeed a dreary place.  On one side was wild moorland, and on the other a plantation of firs edged the dismal pond.  It might be about a quarter of a mile long, and perhaps one-sixth of a mile wide.  There were no houses near, and the high-road was some distance away.  It was not an attractive place for several reasons.  The region was very drear, and, moreover, the place had a bad reputation.  The pond was said to have no bottom, while a murder having been committed on the moors near by, the country people said that dark spirits of the dead were often seen to float over the Drearwaters in the silent night.

I stood at the edge of the water for some time; then I quietly led my horse away around to the other side, where dark fir trees made the scene, if possible, more gloomy than it would otherwise have been.  I had not been there long before I heard voices, and, looking up, I saw the party walking towards me.  Evidently they had fastened their horses in the near distance, and were now seeking to better enjoy themselves by walking.

As they came near me, I made a slight noise, which drew their attention.  Certainly I ought to have felt flattered by their greeting, especially, by that of Miss Forrest.

“We thought you had been bewitched, Mr. Blake,” said Miss Gray, after a few trivial remarks had been passed.

“Perhaps I was,” I said, looking at Voltaire.  He stared at me as if in wonder, and a curious light played in his eyes.  He had uttered no word when he saw me, but he gave indications of his astonishment.

“Well,” continued Miss Gray, “this is the proper place to be bewitched.  Mr. Temple has been telling some strange stories about it.  What was it, Mr. Temple?—­a red hand appears from the water, and whoever sees it will be led to commit murder?”

“Oh, there are dozens of stories about the place,” said Tom.  “Indeed, there is scarcely a youth or maiden who will be seen here after dark.”

“Why?” asked Voltaire, suddenly.

“Oh, as I said just now, it is reported to be haunted; but, more than that, the pond is said to have an evil power.  Some say that if any one sees the place for the first time alone, his hands will be red with blood before a month passes away.”

“Then that will refer to me,” I said.  “But surely such nonsense is not believed in now?”

“These things are not nonsense,” said Voltaire.  “Earth and heaven are full of occult forces.”  I paid no further attention to the subject at the time, but this conversation came back to me with terrible force in the after-days.