Gavin, however, had seen something which, though he spoke not of it then, had given him cause for anxious thought and much speculation. This was Mr. Hawkey Sharpe (who for some time past had betaken him elsewhere) rapidly and furtively passing out by the Weird Yett, well muffled up, either to conceal his face or for warmth against the cold morning air; and by the path he had taken, he had evidently come by the back private door from the house of Earlshaugh!
'What's i' the wind noo?' muttered the old gamekeeper, with a glare in his dark gray eye, and with knitted brows, 'But there's nae hawk, Maister Hawkey Sharpe, flees sae high but he will fa' to some lure. They were gey scant o' bairns that brocht you up.'
CHAPTER XXX.
THE KELPIE'S CLEUGH.
On the extreme flank of his party, and rather farther out or off than usual, Roland, intent on following his game, took no heed at first of the swiftly down-coming mist, till it fell like a curtain between him and his companions, who had drawn their cartridges and ceased firing. Even the sound of their voices was muffled by the density of the atmosphere and he knew not where they were; but, thinking the cloud would lift, he felt not the least concern, but went forward, as he conceived, in the direction of home, and that which led towards the field where the last beat of the day had been made; but as he proceeded the ground seemed less and less familiar to him.
Over a high bank, slippery with dead leaves and the thawed rime of the past morning, he went, a nasty place to get across, and in doing so he prudently removed the cartridges from his gun, lest he might slip, trip, or stumble to the detriment of himself or some adjacent companion.
Pausing at times, he uttered a hallo, but got no response. He could see nothing of the belts of firs before referred to; but he came upon clumps of hazel, nearly destitute of leaves, growing thickly about the roots, and expanding as they rose some nine feet or so above the ground.
There was a dense undergrowth of bracken and intertwisted brambles here, a tangle of dead leaves, stems, and thorns, most perplexing to find one's self among in a dense mist. From amid these a rabbit or hare scudded forth; but he took no heed of it.
Suddenly a bird—a fine golden pheasant—whirred up, and settled down again in the covert very near him. He remembered the request of Annot. Never had the latter seemed brighter, dearer, or sweeter too, than that morning when she playfully asked him to bring a golden pheasant's wing, and secretly returned his farewell caress with such joy and warmth.