ysterious-looking in these ancient quarries
where foot of man never trod now, and she shivered as she passed
funnel-shaped holes which she knew were produced by the falling in of
the surface to fill up passages and chambers in the stone whose roofs
had given way far below.

She often thought, when tempted by Grip in the direction of these weird
old places, how horrible it would be if some day the earth suddenly sank
beneath her, and she should be buried alive.

At such times her hands grew wet, and she retraced her steps, fancying
the while that the earth sounded hollow beneath her tread.

Upon this particular morning Grip had vanquished her. He was always
tempting her in this direction by making rushes and looking back as if
asking her to come, for the dark holes tempted him. The rabbit burrows
were all very well, but he could never get in them beyond his shoulders,
while in these holes he could penetrate as far as he liked in search of
imaginary wild creatures which were never found. Then, too, there were
the edges of the cliffs where he could stand and bark at the waves far
below, and sometimes, where they were not perpendicular, descend from
shelf to shelf.

The morning was glorious, and the sea of a lovely amethyst blue, as
Celia wandered on and on toward the highest of the hills away west of
the Hoze. Grip was frantic with delight, his tail stood straight out,
and his ears literally rattled as he charged over the short turf after
some rabbit, which dodged through the bushes, reached its hole,
displayed a scrap of white cotton, and disappeared.

And still, smiling at the dog's antics, the girl wandered on, nearer and
nearer to where the land suddenly ended and the cliff went sharply down
to the sea.

As she went on, stopping to admire the beautiful purple thistles, which
sent up one each a massive head on its small stalk, or admired the
patches of dyer's rocket and the golden tufts of ragwort, the old
fancies about the ancient quarries were forgotten for the time, and she
seated herself at last upon a projecting piece of stone, away there in
the solitude, to watch the grey gulls and listen to the faint beat of
the waves hundreds of feet below.

There were a few sheep here and there, but the Hoze was hidden beyond a
fold of the mighty hills, and Shackle's farm and the labourer's cottage
were all down in one of the valleys.

It was very beautiful, but extremely lonely, and to right and left there
were t