“What is the matter?” asked the young man.
“There is something there’moving’in the hedge.”
They were in a true Devonshire lane, with the hedges high on each side, planted with trees that extended their branches overhead, almost interlocking. Through the boughs and leaves the grey sky glimmered, and the soil in the lane here and there showed in the light from above, but all was indistinct and dark. A turn in the lane, and a fork beyond the turn, lay before them, and through one of the lanes the light of the estuary reflecting the sky made a partial gleam, as though that lane were a tube with ground glass at the end.
Both remained motionless and listened.
“Hark!” whispered Rose; “did you hear something?”
“I heard you speaking.”
“Before I spoke’a clitter, as of a foot on stones.”
“Well, what of that? This is a road, and people may go along it, I reckon.”
“Look’look!” gasped Rose, pointing down the funnel-like lane, at the end of which was the light of the steely water.
Rose maintained her grasp of Noah.