ugged tor, and again a few fields taken in from the moorland by
some enterprising labourer who wanted to earn a living by farming.
Near this road, too, is the famous Dozmary Pool, known to all those who
love folk-lore and are acquainted with the legends of the most Western
county in England--a dismal piece of water, black as ink, and, so the
old stories have it, bottomless. It was here that Tregellas, of
Cornish myth, was set by the Devil to scoop out its water by means of a
limpet-shell. Here, too, in old times, coaches were robbed and dark
deeds done. At the time of which I am writing, however, it was simply
one of the most unattractive and bleak districts in what is otherwise
perhaps the most beautiful county in England. The woman had walked all
the way from Launceston, a distance of not less than a dozen miles.
The youth had come from Bodmin, and he had covered nearly the same
length of road. The afternoon was drawing to a close as they met. It
was a November day, and darkness would be upon them by five o'clock.
No one was near, for since the days of stage-coaches the traffic on
this road has been small. Occasionally a farmer's cart passes along,
or again a vehicle of more ornamental description, used by those who
wish to travel either to Bodmin or to Launceston. There is no railway
station within ten miles of that drear region, and it seemed a fitting
meeting-place for the couple who came there that day. The woman was
perhaps thirty-five years of age, and suggested the fact that in her
girlhood she must have been strangely beautiful. Even yet there were
times when one would have spoken of her as one possessing more than
ordinary attraction. That was when her eyes became soft, and her
features relaxed into a smile, but these times were very rare. As she
trudged along the dreary road her face was set and stern, her lips were
compressed, her eyes hard and relentless. As she passed through Five
Lanes and asked for a cup of tea at a cottage there, the villagers
remarked upon her and wondered who she was. "She might be a witch,"
said one.

"No, too young for that," said another.

"But where can she be goin'? She is a straanger in thaise paarts."

"Up to no good, I reckon."

But the woman gave no confidences. Evidently her purpose was clear
before her mind, and after she had obtained her cup of tea she stepped
forward with the same resolution in her eyes, turning neither to the
right nor to the left.