'Shall I send the Hand after it?'
The suggestion made Charles uneasy. He looked about him, as afraid to see the black hand running on the grass, leaping the tufts of furze, carrying his dead finger, to drop it at his feet.
'What are you muttering?' asked he, sharply.
'I'm only repeating, Hand of Glory! Hand of Light! Fetch, fetch! Run and bring——'
'I'll strike you down if you go on with your devilry, you hag,' said Charles, angrily.
'We are at the place.'
They entered the cutting made by the treasure-seekers, the gap in which Honor had often sat in the sun, unconscious of the stone kistvaen hidden behind her, indifferent to the terrors of the haunted hill, whilst the sun blazed on it.
'The night is much darker than it was,' said Charles uneasily, as he looked about him.
It was as he said. The black mass of cloud had spread and covered the sky, cutting off the light except from the horizon.
'I don't like the looks of the cloud,' said Charles. 'There will be rain before long, and there's thunder aloft for certain.'