A brief uncovering of the moon--the same which revealed to Millicent the huddled roofs of Marshleigh Grange--gave Holyday a view of his surroundings. Looking back across the fen, he saw what must be the wood from which he had come. He stood, therefore, on the border of a second wood. He knew the wind was from the west; hence, noting the direction in which the clouds were flying, he perceived that his course had been southward and from the river. He ought to be on familiar ground now, which he had often scoured with the parson and their fellow poachers; but ere he could assure himself, moon and earth were blotted out, and he was again in a world of the black unknown.
Turning his back to the marsh, he traversed the second wood. A swift, loud wind raced over the tree-tops, bringing greater dampness. He came into what might be a glade, or a space of heath, which he proceeded to cross. As he had been gradually ascending in the past few minutes, he had no fear of another bog at this place. He was by this time ready to drop with fatigue. Stumbling over a little mound, he fell upon soft grass. He lay there for some minutes, resting, till his body seemed to stiffen with cold. Then he rose, and plunged wearily on in despair. Suddenly, to the joy of his heart, he heard voices ahead.
"I'll take oath 'tis no deer," said one. "Come on; the keeper is abroad in this walk; I tell you I spied the candle in's window to light him home."
"I'll have a shot at it, for all that," said another.
Poachers, thought Holyday; and they were speaking of him. He flung himself down, just in time to hear the twang of a crossbow where the voices were, and the whizz of a bolt through the air where his body had been.
"'Fore God, thou hast laid the thing low," said a third voice. Recognising it, Holyday leaped up with a cry, and ran forward, calling out:
"Sir Nicholas! oh, Sir Nick, thou poaching rascal, 'tis I!"
"God save us, 'tis a ghost; a human ghost!" cried the first speaker.
"'Tis a white thing on two legs, sure," answered the vicar, with trepidation.
"'Tis the devil come for you; he spoke your name," said their companion, affrightedly; and instantly came the sound of feet running away like mad.
Holyday pursued, shouting, "'Tis I, Ralph Holyday!" But the poachers, hearing the name, and thinking it to be the spirit of Holyday come to announce his own death, were soon quite out of hearing.