matter of six months ago one of the boys from the mill, who was somewhat
the worse for liquor, said he was a-goin' ter see who it was wot made them
flames light up by theirselves, and--he never came back. And that same
night another flame was added to the number!"

"Whew! Bit of a tall story that, Borkins!" Nevertheless a cold chill
crept over Merriton's bones and he gave a forced, mirthless laugh.

"As true as the gospel, Sir Nigel!" said Borkins, solemnly. "That's what
always 'appens. Every time any one ventures that way--well, they're
a-soundin' their own death-knell, so to speak, and you kin see the new
light appear. But there's never no trace of the person that ventured out
across the Fens at evening time. He, or she--a girl tried it once, Lord
save 'er!--vanishes off the face of the earth as clean as though they'd
never been born. Gawd alone knows what it is that lives there, or what
them flames may be, but I tells you it's sheer death to attempt to see
for yourself, so long as night lasts. And in the morning--well, it's
gone, and there isn't a thing to be seen for the lookin'!"

"Merciful powers! What a peculiar thing!" Despite his mockery of the
supernatural, Merriton could not help but feel a sort of awe steal over
him, at the tale as told by Borkins in the eeriest hour of the whole
twenty-four--that which hangs between darkness and dawn. Should he go or
shouldn't he? He was a fool to believe the thing, and yet--He certainly
didn't want to die yet awhile, with Antoinette Brellier a mere handful of
yards away from him, and all the days his own to cultivate her
acquaintance in.

"You've fairly made my flesh creep with your beastly story!" he said, in
a rather high-pitched voice. "Might have reserved it until morning--after