kindly mantle of a
moonless summer night, they could enjoy the pleasure of propinquity
without fear of being laughed at.

"Let's sit down here for a bit while I smoke a cigarette," said Reggie,
when they had gone half a mile along the marsh. "It is the old ambush,
as we called it, where we used to picnic when I was a middy and you were
a kid."

He ran down the side of the raised path into a little glade formed by
some dwarf oaks at the base of the miniature cliff, and Enid followed,
seating herself on the low-growing branch of one of the trees. It was
quite dark now--so dark that though they were very close to the path
they had quitted, they could not be seen from it. Even in daylight they
would have been invisible behind their leafy screen.

"I suppose you executed that manoeuvre because you heard the footsteps
behind us," said Enid in a whisper.

"Footsteps? I didn't hear any," replied Reggie.

"Hush! Don't speak. You can hear them now."

The sound of hurrying feet was distinctly audible now from the path, and
a moment later a man--the heavy tread left no doubt that it was a
man--went by. He was almost running, and they could hear his quick
breathing, but it was impossible to tell whether he was tall or short,
young or old, rich or poor, in the inky blackness that had swallowed up
the marsh.

"A telegraph boy taking a short cut to the Manor House," suggested Enid
when the steps had died away.

"Too late for that--the office closed two hours ago," replied Reggie
Beauchamp carelessly. "More likely some poacher who has been setting
snares for rabbits, and thought he heard a keeper behind him. The
Ottermouth fishermen used to be precious handy with a bit of copper wire
and a bootlace."

The brief interruption passed from their minds, and they had been
chattering for about ten minutes when once again the silence of the
marsh was broken by the sound of advancing steps. This time the wayfarer
came along in more leisurely fashion, and in this case also it was
possible to guess from the heavy footfall that the passer by was a man.
Perhaps a minute elapsed, and then, just as the young people were
becoming absorbed in each other again, there came from further along the
marsh--that is to say, from the direction to which both the successive
pedestrians had been proceeding--a sudden sharp cry, ending in a
long-drawn wail.

"What on earth was that?" exclaimed Enid, jumping down from her bough.

"Goodness knows," laugh