The dogs were still barking. The boy’s voice rose shriller and shriller. “I know they’re witches! They had glowing eyes and they were taller than people—”
The four plunged more deeply into the wood. The confused sound died behind them. They went up the stream a mile, came upon a track that ran down to stepping-stones, crossed the water for the second time, and once more faced seaward; then after a time turned at right angles and so struck the road again, the village well passed. But the détour had cost them heavily in time. Moreover, even in the night-time, there grew a feeling of folk aware, of movement, a fear of eyes, of a sudden shout of arrest.... They heard behind them a trampling of horses’ hoofs, together with voices. There was just time to break into a friendly thicket by the roadside, and crouch there among the hazel stems, out of the moonlight. There came by a party of men, some a-horseback, some on foot.
“Four,” said one distinctly.
“Shall we beat that thicket?”
“They couldn’t have gotten this far.”
“I’ll ride through it to make sure—”
Man and horse came into the thicket. They passed within ten feet of the four lying flat, but touched them not and saw them not.... When all were gone the sorcerer and the witch and their companions came forth and again pressed seaward. The dawn appeared, the sky unearthly cold and remote behind the clean black line of the earth. It showed a homeless country for them. With the first grey gleam there began a traffic upon the road. They were passed in the dimness by a pedlar with his pack, a drover with sheep. They saw coming a string of carts, and they left the road again, this time for good. They lay now amid heather upon a moor, and in the pale, uncertain light considered their course. The miles were not many now before them, but they were dangerous miles. They decided at last to break company and, two and two, to strive for the port. Say that, so they arrived there, then would they come as well to an inner ring of dangers.... But they all strove for cheer, or grim or bright, and Gervaise appointed for rendezvous an obscure small inn called The Moon, down by the harbour’s edge. It was kept by a man known to Sir Richard. Get to The Moon, whisper a word or two which Gervaise now furnished, and the rest would probably go well. The problem was to get there.
It was also to decide, if they divided, who would go with whom. Gervaise looked at Aderhold. “Will you, sir, take Humphrey Lantern, and Joan go with me?” There was a silence, then Aderhold spoke, “You have proved yourself the best of guides and guards. But life has taught me, too, to watch for dangers and in some measure has given me skill. And she and I are the heinous ones and the desperate.” He turned his eyes to Joan. “Shall we not keep together?”