But Laura had not gone to the town. From the platform she had clearly
seen a path on the fell-side, leading over some broken ground to the
great quarry above the station. The grove of trees had hidden the
starting of the path from her, but some outlet into the road there must
be; she had left the station in quest of it.

And as soon as she reached the trees a gate appeared in the wall to the
left. She passed through it, and hurried up the steep path beyond it.
Again and again she hid herself behind the boulders with which the fell
was strewn, lest her moving figure should be seen from below--often she
stopped in terror, haunted by the sound of steps, imagining a breath, a
voice, behind her.

She ran and stumbled--ran again--tore her light dress--gulped down the
sob in her throat--fearing at every step to faint, and so be taken by the
pursuer; or to slip into some dark hole--the ground seemed full of
them--and be lost there--still worse, found there!--wounded, defenceless.

But at last the slope is climbed. She sees before her a small platform,
on a black network of supporting posts--an engine-house--and beyond,
truck lines with half-a-dozen empty trucks upon them, lines that run away
in front of her along the descending edge of the first low hill she has
been climbing.

Further on, a dark gulf--then the dazzling wall of the quarry. A patch of
deepest, blackest shadow, at the seaward end of the engine-house, caught
her eye. She gained it, sank down within it, strengthless and gasping.

Surely no one could see her here! Yet presently she perceived beside her
a low pile of planks within the shadow, and for greater protection crept