herdmen, for I think they hail from hell."

"Then he was a spy watching whither we go," answered Sir John angrily.

"If so, who sent him? The Abbot of Blossholme? In that case I would
sooner meet the devil, for this means mischief. I say that we had better
ride back to Shefton."

"Then do so, Jeffrey, if you are scared, and I will go on alone, who,
being on an honest business, fear not Satan or an abbot, either."

"Nay, master. Many a year ago, when we were younger, I stood by you on
Flodden Field when Sir Edward, Christopher Harflete's father, was killed
at our side, and those red-bearded Scotch bare-breeks pressed us hard,
yet I never itched to turn my back, even after that great fellow with an
axe got you down, and we thought that all was lost. Then shall I do
so now?--though it is true that I fear yon goblin more than all the
Highlanders beyond the Tweed. Ride on; man can die but once, and for my
part I care not when it comes, who have little to lose in an ill world."

So without more words they started forward, peering about them as they
went. Soon the forest thickened, and the track they followed wound its
way round great trunks of primeval oaks, or the edges of bog-holes, or
through brakes of thorns. Hard enough it was to find it at times, since
the snow made it one with the bordering ground, and the gloom of the
oaks was great. But Jeffrey was a woodman born, and from his childhood
had known the shape of every tree in that waste, so that they held
safely to their road. Well would it have been for them if they had not!

They came to a place where three other tracks crossed that which they