n outline of Corrie's figure clearly defined
against the sky. She ran after them in frantic haste; but she might as
well have chased a couple of wild cats. Either terror is gifted with
better wings than hope, or males are better runners than females.
Perhaps both propositions are true; but certain it is that Poopy soon
began to perceive that the succour which had appeared so suddenly, was
about to vanish almost as quickly.

In this new dilemma, the girl once more availed herself of her slight
knowledge of the place, and made a detour, which enabled her to shoot
ahead of the fugitives and intercept them in one of the narrowest parts
of the mountain-gorge. Here, instead of using her natural voice, she
conceived that the likeliest way of making her terrified friends
understand who she was, would be to shout with all the strength of her
lungs. Accordingly, she planted herself suddenly in the centre of their
path, just as the two came tearing blindly round a corner of rock, and
set up a series of yells, the nature of which utterly beggars
description.

The result was, that with one short wild cry of renewed horror, Bumpus
and Corrie turned sharp round and fled in the opposite direction.

There is no doubt whatever that they would have succeeded in ultimately
escaping from this pertinacious ghost, and poor Poopy would have had to
make the best of her way to Sandy Cove alone, but for the fortunate
circumstance that Corrie fell; and, being only a couple of paces in
advance of his companion, Bumpus fell over him.

The ghost took advantage of this to run forward, crying out, "Corrie!
Corrie! Corrie!--it's me! _me_! ME!" with all her might.

"Eh! I do believe it knows my name," cried the boy, scrambling to his
feet, and preparing to renew his flight; but Bumpus laid his heavy hand
on his collar, and held him fast.

"Wot did it speak?"

"Yes; listen! Oh dear! come, fly!"

Instead of flying, the seaman heaved a deep sigh; and, sitting down on a
rock, took out a reddish brown cotton handkerchief wherewith he wiped
his forehead.

"My boy," said he, still panting; "it ain't a ghost. No ghost wos ever
known to _speak_. They looks, an' they runs, an' they yells, an' they
vanishes, but they never speaks; d'ye see? I told ye it was a
sciencrific dolusion; though, I'm bound for to confess, I never heer'd
o' von o' them critters speakin', no more than the ghosts.
Howsomedever, that's wot it is."

Corrie, who still hes