ramble. Now, alert, quick-stepping, eager, he made his swift
way along the windings of the secret path.

Light as were his steps, they creaked lamentably at times on
the boards of a bridge-span. More than once, he heard
slitherings, in the water and marsh to either side, as some
serpent or other slimy swamp-dweller wriggled away, at his
passing. The collie trotted gravely along, just in front of
him, pausing once in a while, as if to make certain the man
was following.

The silence and gloom and sinister solemnity of the place had
had a dampening effect on the dog's gay spirits. The backward
glances at his self-chosen master were for reassuring himself,
rather than for
guidance. Surroundings have quicker and stronger effect on
collies than on almost any other kind of dog. And these
surroundings, very evidently, were not to the collie's taste.
Several times, when the path's width permitted, he dropped
back to Gavin's side, to receive a word of friendly
encouragement or a pat on the head.

Outside of the grove's shadows the sun was sinking. Not with
the glowing deliberation of sunsets in northern latitudes, but
with almost indecent haste. In the dense shade of the forest,
twilight had fallen. But the path still lay clear. And
Brice's footsteps quickened, as in a race with darkness.

Then, at a twist of the path, the way suddenly grew lighter.
And at another turn, twilight brightened into clearness. A