“Yes,” she replied, “I wandered about, and got caught in the fog. Wherever I looked, I seemed to be surrounded by huge ditches full of black water. I was afraid to move—what am I to do?”
“Sit tight for the present: I hope you don’t mind waiting?”
“What do you call waiting?”
“Well, say an hour. The moon will be up then, and I will take you home.”
“Oh, thank you. I think you must be Mr. Hegan?”
“I wonder how you guessed? Yes, we live within a quarter of a mile. I’ve known the bog since I was a baby—but I dare not venture to steer you about in the dark.”
“No, it would not be safe, I am sure.”
“Lots of people have been lost on the bog from time to time. They drop into these deep black holes, and the peat holds and preserves them. I remember long ago seeing the body of a girl, found after twenty years. Her friends recognised her at once, though she looked a bit leathery and dried up. Let me find you a seat,” he added, striking another match.
Dermot Hegan had a nice well-bred voice, and by the flickering match Vera noticed his well-kept but rough hands, and frayed shirt-cuffs.
“How did you know I came from Clonallon?” she asked, as they sat in outer darkness.