of his own footsteps.  No one dared to gaze at the rocks, lest he should see some hideous hobgoblin peering out of their fissures.  No one glanced at the water, for fear some terrible kelpy, with twining snakes for hair and scaly hide, should issue from it and drag him down to devour him with his shark-like teeth.  Among the common folk, this part of the ravine was known as “the boggart’s glen”, and was supposed to be haunted by mischievous beings, who made the unfortunate wanderer their sport.

For the last half-mile the road had been so narrow and intricate in its windings, that the party were obliged to proceed singly; but this did not prevent conversation; and Nicholas, throwing the bridle over Robin’s neck, left the surefooted animal to pursue his course unguided, while he himself, leaning back, chatted with Roger Nowell.  At the entrance of the gloomy gorge above described, Robin came to a stand, and refusing to move at a jerk from his master, the latter raised himself, and looked forward to see what could be the cause of the stoppage.  No impediment was visible, but the animal obstinately refused to go on, though urged both by word and spur.  This stoppage necessarily delayed the rest of the cavalcade.

Well aware of the ill reputation of the place, when Simon Sparshot and the grooms found that Robin would not go on, they declared he must see the boggart, and urged the squire to turn back, or some mischief would befall him.  But Nicholas, though not without misgivings, did not like to yield thus, especially when urged on by Roger Nowell.  Indeed, the party could not get out of the ravine without going back nearly a mile, while Sabden was only half that distance from them.  What was to be done?  Robin still continued obstinate, and for the first time paid no attention to his master’s commands.  The poor animal was evidently a prey to violent terror, and snorted and reared, while his limbs were bathed in cold sweat.

Dismounting, and leaving him in charge of Roger Nowell, Nicholas walked on by himself to see if he could discover any cause for the horse’s alarm; and he had not advanced far, when his eye rested upon a blasted oak forming a conspicuous object on a crag before him, on a scathed branch of which sat the raven.

Croak! croak! croak!

“Accursed bird, it is thou who hast frightened my horse,” cried Nicholas.  “Would I had a crossbow or an arquebuss to stop thy croaking.”

And as he picked up a stone to cast at the raven, a crashing noise was heard among the bushes high up on the rock, and the next moment a huge fragment dislodged from the cliff rolled down and would have crushed him, if he had not nimbly avoided it.

Croak! croak! croak!

Nicholas almost fancied hoarse laughter was mingled with the cries of the bird.

The raven nodded its head and expanded its wings, and the squire, whose recent experience had prepared him for any wonder, fully expected to hear it speak, but it only croaked loudly and exultingly, or if it laughed, the sound was like the creaking of rusty hinges.