n't distress yourself, Ruth," I said. "It is well you have
spoken and let me see the truth. Perchance I shall be thankful some
day that you have spoken. Look, what's that?"

I pointed towards the "Devil's Tooth," which we could still see rising
clearly against the sky. On its very summit was a small flickering
light, and in my fancy I saw a dark form moving among its rugged peaks.

"It's a light," said Ruth, as if glad to change the subject; "what can
it mean?"

"It means death," I said.

"Death! I don't understand, Roger."

"Whenever any one sees a light on the 'Devil's Tooth' it means death to
some one belonging to the man or woman who first saw it," I replied
with a shudder.

"But that's only a superstition," replied Ruth, "surely you will pay no
attention to such stories."

I knew it was only a superstition; but such is the power of education
and association that I could do no other than believe the warning to be
real. Why should it come just now when I was so little able to bear
it? Why should a darker cloud blacken my sky than was already there?

I looked again. The light was gone, but surely I saw even in the pale
moonlight a dark moving figure. Try as I would to banish the feeling I
could not help fearing that a dread calamity was about to fall on me.
I felt ill able to bear it. I had been stunned by the fact of Ruth's
love for Wilfred and her dislike for me. It is true she had not told
me in as many words that she disliked me, or that she loved Wilfred
better, but I was convinced that she thought him more noble and true,
and that there was no hope of her ever coming to love me.

It was quite dark now, and we were away from the soothing influences of
the green honeysuckle lane and the rustling of the ripe corn. We were
walking on the top of the cliff and could see the misty outline of the
coast. We walked slowly on for some distance, and then we both
stopped, trying to see if the dark form were a reality or only a fancy.
Scarcely had we done so when I felt my arm touched.

"What be 'ee lookin' for, Maaster Roger, my dear?" said a
half-wheedling, half-mocking voice.

I turned and saw Deborah Teague.

I must confess that seeing her there alone made me feel strangely. She
had not spoken to me since the night when we met in the cave of evil
repute. Whenever we did chance to meet she looked steadily on the
ground, never answering any words I might address to her. I did not
wonder at thi