r the fraction of a second, terrified and ready, as you
may say, to die at a movement, and then, her fears at rest, back to
her husband's face.

Mr. Robson's first business was to examine Andrew King, a perfectly
honest, well-behaved lad, whom he had known from his cradle. He was
candid--up to a point. He had found her on the top of Knapp Fell, he
said; she had been with others, who ill-treated her. What others?
Others of her sort. Fairies, he said, who lived up there. He pressed
him about this. Fairies? Did he really believe in such beings? Like
all country people he spoke about these things with the utmost
difficulty, and when confronted by worldly wisdom, became dogged. He
said how could he help it when here was one? Mr. Robson told him that
he was begging the question, but he looked very blank. To the surprise
of the minister, old King--old George King, the grandfather--had no
objections to make to the suggestion of fairies on Knapp Fell. He
could not say, there was no telling; Knapp was a known place; strange
things were recorded of the forest. Miranda, his daughter-in-law, was
always a self-contained woman, with an air about her of being
forewarned. He instanced her, and the minister asked her several
questions. Being pressed, she finally said, "Sir, my son is as likely
right as wrong. We must all make up our own minds." There that matter
had to be left.

Andrew said that he had followed the fairies from the tarn on Lammer
Fell into Knapp Forest. They had run away from him, taking this girl
of his, as he supposed, with them. He had followed them because he
meant to have her. They knew that, so had run. Why did he want her? He
said that he had seen her before. When? Oh, long ago--when he had been
up there alone. He had seen her face among the trees for a moment.
They had been hurting her; she looked at him, she was frightened, but
couldn't cry out--only look and ask. He had never forgotten her; her
looks had called him often, and he had kept his eyes wide open. Now,
when he had found her again, he determined to have her. And at last,
he said, he had got her. He had had to fight for her, for they had
been about him like hell-cats and had jumped at him as if they would
tear him to pieces, and screamed and hissed like cats. But when he had
got her in his arms they had all screamed together, once--like a
howling wind--and had flown away.

What next? Here he became obstinate, as if foreseeing what was to be.
What ne