"Have you often so thick a fog as this at Gethin?"

"Not often, Sir; this is a very bad one, and you might have come to harm
in it. Some folks believe that in such weather the Pixies come abroad,
as they do at night, to mislead travelers who have lost their way; and,
indeed, the clifftop lies not a hundred yards in front of you."

"Oh, you think I was misled by a bad fairy, do you?" returned Richard,
in an amused and bantering tone. "Well, at all events, I have now met
with a good one; and may I ask what name she goes by?"

"My name is Trevethick, Sir," said the damsel, simply. "I am no angel,
but I am going to the place you seek; it is this way, Sir."

It was evident that his banter had not pleased her. The same tone that
is found agreeable in the town does not always prove welcome in the
country. She motioned with her hand to the southward, and began to walk
so fast that Richard could not easily keep pace with her.

"But are there really fairies about here?" inquired he, seriously. "I am
quite a stranger to these parts, and should be glad to learn all I can."

"Nay, Sir, I can not say; I have myself never seen one, though I know
some who have, or say they have. There are tales of worse than Pixies
told about that moor you have come across. You might have met the Demon
Horse that tempts the tired traveler to mount him, and then carries him
nobody knows whither; but, for certain, he is never seen again."

"Then the spirits about here are all bad, are they? I suppose to make up