“Were it not for that dog, I should think we were alone on the hill.”

“But we are not.  See, there are the gypsy fires.”

     On the west side of the hill—­two figures: 

“Tammas, Tammas Whamond, I’ve lost you.  Should we gang to the manse down the fields?”

“Wheesht, Hendry!”

“What are you listening for?”

“I heard a dog barking.”

“Only a gypsy dog, Tammas, barking at the coming storm.”

“The gypsy dogs are all tied up, and this one’s atween us and the Toad’s-hole.  What was that?”

“It was nothing but the rubbing of the branches in the cemetery on ane another.  It’s said, trees mak’ that fearsome sound when they’re terrified.”

“It was a dog barking at somebody that’s stoning it.  I ken that sound, Hendry Munn.”

“May I die the death, Tammas Whamond, if a great drap o’ rain didna strike me the now, and I swear it was warm.  I’m for running hame.”

“I’m for seeing who drove awa that dog.  Come back wi’ me, Hendry.”

“I winna.  There’s no a soul on the hill but you and me and thae daffing and drinking gypsies.  How do you no answer me, Tammas?  Hie, Tammas Whamond, whaur are you?  He’s gone!  Ay, then I’ll mak’ tracks hame.”

     In the broom—­a dogcart: 

“Do you see nothing yet, McKenzie?”

“Scarce the broom at my knees, Rintoul.  There is not a light on the hill.”

“McKenzie, can that schoolmaster have deceived us?”

“It is probable.”

“Urge on the horse, however.  There is a road through the broom, I know.  Have we stuck again?”

“Rintoul, she is not here.  I promised to help you to bring her back to the Spittal before this escapade became known, but we have failed to find her.  If she is to be saved, it must be by herself.  I daresay she has returned already.  Let me turn the horse’s head.  There is a storm brewing.”

“I will search this gypsy encampment first, if it is on the hill.  Hark! that was a dog’s bark.  Yes, it is Snap; but he would not bark at nothing.  Why do you look behind you so often, McZenzie?”

“For some time, Rintoul, it has seemed to me that we are being followed.  Listen!”

“I hear nothing.  At last, McKenzie, at last, we are out of the broom.”

“And as I live, Rintoul, I see the gypsy lights!”

It might have been a lantern that was flashed across the hill.  Then all that part of the world went suddenly on fire.  Everything was horribly distinct in that white light.  The firs of Caddam were so near that it seemed to have arrested them in a silent march upon the hill.  The grass would not hide a pebble.  The ground was scored with shadows of men and things.  Twice the light flickered and recovered itself.  A red serpent shot across it, and then again black night fell.