“Over to the left—in the woods. Don’t you see something white?”
Cora looked where Belle directed. At the moment the others were deep in a discussion about something of comparative unimportance.
“There!” whispered Belle, tensely, and she gripped Cora’s arm hard.
“Yes—yes. I see it!”
“It—it looks like a—a ghost!”
They both saw something white that seemed to float, rather than move among the trees, and Cora was about to call it to the attention of the others when it disappeared.
“Don’t say anything about it,” she quickly whispered to Belle. “Of course it wasn’t a ghost. It may have been a wisp of fog, or some one going through the woods. Then there’s that—oh, what do they call that light which comes from rotting wood?”
“You mean ignis fatuus?” asked Belle.
“Yes; that’s it. Will-o’-the-wisp some folks term it. It comes from phosphorus. It may have been that.”
They went on a little farther, and suddenly a light shone through the woods, while a dull rumble and roar, increasing in intensity, came to the ears of all.