die!"

To go and meet the ghost, or to let Dulcie die--they were equally
dreadful to Biddy. As she thought of the first, icy-cold water seemed
to be trickling slowly down her back; and as she thought of the second,
a great aching ball came into her throat and her eyes filled with tears.

"I'll go, mum," she gasped out. "Don't you lose heart."

Mrs Roy gave a trembling sigh of relief as Biddy's sturdy form moved
towards the door.

"Put on my thick grey shawl hanging in the passage," she said; "and oh,
Biddy, make him understand that he must come as quickly as ever he can."

Biddy threw the heavy shawl over her head and shoulders, and stepped out
through the dark porch into the darker field. Mrs Roy had said there
was no moon that night, but there was--a small pale one, just enough to
make everything look dimly awful. The wind was high, rattling the bare
branches of the trees, and chasing the clouds hurriedly along; it blew
coldly in Biddy's face as she left the warm shelter of the house. She
could see the track across the field and the white gate at the end of
it, and the row of dark elms tossing their arms wildly. Towards these
she set her face, and, bending down her head, ran steadily on. "Go
back, go back!" the wind seemed to shout as it pressed against her with
its strong outspread hands; "Go on, Biddy, for my sake!" whispered Mrs
Roy's pleading voice behind her. And these two sounds were so distinct
that in the middle of the field she stopped uncertainly. But the little
voice from Truslow Manor and the thought of Dulcie's danger were
stronger than the wind, and drove her on again till she stood with
trembling knees close to the river, her hand touching the latch of the
gate. What, oh! What was that, looming towards her, shapeless and
awful, across the bridge! A cow, perhaps?--it was too low; a dog?--it
was too large. On it came, slowly, nearer and nearer, and Biddy could
see that where its head should have been there was something that napped
about loosely; the rest of it was a formless, moving piece of darkness.
Biddy could not stir--she clung in an agony to the gate-post and stared
without making a sound. To run away would be impossible, even if her
limbs had not been useless from terror: it would be far worse to feel
this creature at her back than to face it. So she stood for a minute,
which seemed a lifetime, and then, recovering her voice, uttered a
shrill, despairing scream. At the sound th