dogs of hell that were darting up from the north in pursuit of souls
not five minutes since.

"Don't talk so, Owen," said Nest, curling up to him in the darkness
of the copse. "Who knows what may be listening?"

The pair were silent, in a kind of nameless terror, till they heard
Ellis Pritchard's loud whisper. "Where are ye? Come along, soft and
steady. There were folk about even now, and the Squire is missed,
and madam in a fright."

They went swiftly down to the little harbour, and embarked on board
Ellis's boat. The sea heaved and rocked even there; the torn clouds
went hurrying overhead in a wild tumultuous manner.

They put out into the bay; still in silence, except when some word of
command was spoken by Ellis, who took the management of the vessel.
They made for the rocky shore, where Owen's boat had been moored. It
was not there. It had broken loose and disappeared.

Owen sat down and covered his face. This last event, so simple and
natural in itself, struck on his excited and superstitious mind in an
extraordinary manner. He had hoped for a certain reconciliation, so
to say, by laying his father and his child both in one grave. But
now it appeared to him as if there was to be no forgiveness; as if
his father revolted even in death against any such peaceful union.
Ellis took a practical view of the case. If the Squire's body was
found drifting about in a boat known to belong to his son, it would
create terrible suspicion as to the manner of his death. At one time
in the evening, Ellis had thought of persuading Owen to let him bury