On and on he went in the fading light, and on and on went Cuthbert in steady pursuit.  This part of the forest was strange to the youth, but it was familiar enough to the gipsy.  From the mechanical way in which he chose his track, and the direct certainty with which he walked, it was plain that he knew every inch of the road, and could have found the path by night as well as by day.

“Sure it must lead to the haunted dell,” thought Cuthbert, as the gloom deepened around him and the wood grew denser and denser.  The pines began to be mingled with other trees.  The undergrowth was thicker and more tangled.  It was not always easy for Cuthbert to force his way along.  He paused sometimes in fear lest his steps and the cracking of the boughs should be heard by the man in advance of him.

On and on they went, and now the track became more distinct, and it led downwards.  An owl in a tree overhead hooted as Cuthbert passed by, and something of a cold shiver ran through the young man’s frame; he stumbled over the outspread root of a gnarled old oak, and fell, making more noise than he liked.

The owl flew away, hooting ominously as it seemed to his strained nerves, and the hooting was answered as from the very heart of the dell, if dell it was, mingled with many other strange and fierce sounds.  Cuthbert rose to his feet and crept forward with a beating heart, and as he did so he heard a shout of demoniacal laughter which chilled the very blood in his veins, and seemed to raise the hair upon his head, so unearthly was the sound.

But making the sign of the cross upon his brow, and striving to keep his presence of mind and his courage unimpaired by ghostly terrors, Cuthbert still pursued his way downwards into this dim, strange place.  He felt more and more certain that this was the pixies’ dell of which the verses spoke—­the dell wherein some deed of darkness had been committed that caused it to be shunned of all; and it needed all his native stoutness of heart to enable him to conquer his fears and pursue his way, as he reflected on the foul murders that had been committed not far off, and wondered if indeed the restless souls of those to whom Christian burial had been denied hovered by night about the ill-omened spot, to fright away all travellers who strove to pass that way.

For a while the fearful sounds of hooting and laughter continued, under cover of which he crept nearer and nearer to the centre of the dell.  Presently they ceased, and a death-like silence ensued.  Cuthbert dared not move, and scarcely dared to breathe.  This was the most trying experience he had yet had.  He had felt far less fear on the darkly-flowing river and in that strange underground cellar, against both of which the wise woman had warned him.

But after a long pause of silence he heard another and a different laugh—­a laugh in which he recognized the sardonic intonation he had recently heard from the lips of Long Robin.