“I hope he has not found the children in that chalk-pit. See, we are near the first one,” said Jack, crossing over to his father, and moving with him to the chalk-pit, which was at the side of the road.
“I trust not, Jack. Here is Rover; he has found something, that is clear. All right, I am coming, good dog,” said the shepherd, as Rover now emerged from the fog, and, by dint of many barks and wagging of his tail, gave his master to understand that he had discovered something.
The shepherd throwing the light of the lantern in the direction the dog indicated, followed him, while Jack, with his heart in his throat, dreading at every step that the next would bring him face to face with Fairy stretched lifeless at his feet—a picture his quick imagination had but little difficulty in conjuring up—brought up the rear.
They were at the mouth of a large chalk-pit, but, owing to the density of the fog, the lantern did not enable them to see more than a yard before them; moreover, they were obliged to go very carefully, as huge pieces of chalk were scattered over the centre of the pit. Suddenly Jack kicked against something, and stooping, picked up a large gingham umbrella, which, to his joy, he saw at a glance did not belong to Fairy.
“See, father, an umbrella; can this be what Rover is making all this fuss about?” asked Jack, handing the huge thing to his father to examine.
“I doubt not; I am afraid we shall find the owner of the umbrella next, Jack, by Rover’s ways. But look, there is a name cut on the handle, and it looks as if it had been cut quite recently, too. See if you can make it out, I can’t; seems a foreign name to me,” said John Shelley, holding the umbrella close to his lantern for Jack to read.
“D-e-t—No, it is a capital t; De Thorens, that is the name, plain enough. A foreign one, too, as you said. It must belong to some stranger, then; perhaps someone has lost his or her way and taken shelter in this pit. Let us shout, father, they may hear us,” and Jack shouted, but in vain.
Rover now became more excited than ever, and seizing John Shelley by the skirts of his smock-frock, dragged him forward, until suddenly he came to a standstill, and loosing his hold of his master, sniffed round and round something which was lying a step or two further on. John Shelley stooped, and, lowering his lantern, turned the light on the object, and saw to his horror the apparently lifeless body of an old woman, which was lying huddled together in a shapeless mass. Gently and reverently the shepherd straightened the limbs, which were already getting cold and stiff, and then looking at the face, which was not disfigured by the fall, the old woman having fallen on her back, he recognised his old acquaintance Dame Hursey.
“Is she dead, father?” asked Jack, in an awe-stricken voice, as he clutched his father’s arm, for it was a ghastly sight these two were gazing on in the cold, dark, foggy night, by the weird gleams of their lanterns.
“Yes, Jack, yes; do you see who it is? Poor old Dame Hursey, the last person I ever thought to find here, for if anyone knew the Downs it was she. She is dressed in her best, too; she was not out wool-gathering, that is clear,” said the shepherd, slowly.