The boy seemed to linger, as if he heard the cry, and beckoned to Malebouche to come to him.
The squire strove to do so, when all at once he found no footing, and sank slowly.
He was in the fatal quagmire of which he had heard.
Slowly, slowly, up to the middle—up to the neck.
"Boy, help! help! for Heaven's sake!"
The boy stood, as it seemed, yet on firm ground. And now he threw aside the hood that had hitherto concealed his features, and looked Malebouche in the face.
It was the face of the murdered Ulric upon which Malebouche gazed! and the whole figure vanished into empty air as he looked.
One last despairing scream—then a sound of choking—then the head disappeared beneath the mud—then a bubble or two of air breaking the surface of the bog—then all was still. And the mud kept its secret for ever.