urned and ran as many paces
backward. Bogs occurred to him--he came to a full stop, fell on his
knees, and howled. Up he leaped again, clapped both hands to his mouth,
and shouted until his eyes threatened to come out, and his face became
purple, "Master! Master! George! hi! hallo-o! Jacky! ho-o-o!" The
"O!" was prolonged into a wild roar, and down he went again quite flat.
Up he jumped once more; the darkness was deepening. He rushed to the
right--left--all round--tore his hair, and gazed into the black depths
below--yelled and glared into the dark vault above!

Poor Peter! Thus violently did his gentle spirit seek relief during the
first few minutes of its overwhelming consternation.

But he calmed down in the course of time into a species of mild despair.
A bursting sob broke from him occasionally, as with his face buried in
his hands, his head deep in the heather, and his eyes tight shut, he
strove in vain to blind himself to the true nature of his dreadful
position. At last he became recklessly desperate, and, rising hastily,
he fled. He sought, poor lad, to fly from himself. Of course the
effort was fruitless. Instead of distancing himself--an impossibility
at all times--doubly so in a rugged country--he tumbled himself over a
cliff, (fortunately not a high one), and found himself in a peat-bog,
(fortunately not a deep one). This cooled and somewhat improved his
understanding, so that he returned to the knoll a wiser, a wetter, and a
sadder boy. Who shall describe the agonies, the hopes, the fears, the
wanderings, the faggings, and the final despair of the succeeding hours?
It is impossible to say who will describe all this, for _we_ have not
the slightest intention of attempting it.

Towards midnight Dan reached a very dark and lonely part of the
mountains, and was suddenly arrested by a low wail. The sturdy Celt
raised his lantern on high. Just at that moment Peter's despair
happened to culminate, and he lifted his head out of the heather to give
free vent to the hideous groan, with which he meant, if possible, to
terminate his existence. The groan became a shriek, first of terror,
then of hope, after that of anxiety, as Dan came dancing towards him
like a Jack-o'-lantern.

"Fat is she shriekin' at?" said Dan.

"Oh! I'm _so_ glad--I'm so-o-ow-hoo!"

Poor Peter seized Dan round the legs, for, being on his knees, he could
not reach higher, and embraced him.

"Fat's got the maister?"

Pe