Leaving him to retrace his steps, we continued to make our way into the utmost recesses of the great swamp.
The tortuous path grew less and less defined as we proceeded, and was even covered in places with water, but the increasing excitement of the hound and the sight of the deep footmarks in the mud stimulated us to push on.

At last, after struggling through a grove of high bulrushes, we came on a spot the gloomy horror of which might have furnished Dante with a fresh terror for his "Inferno." The whole bog in this part appeared to have sunk in, forming a great, funnel-shaped depression, which terminated in the centre in a circular rift or opening about forty feet in diameter.

It was a whirlpool--a perfect maelstrom of mud, sloping down on every side to this silent and awful chasm.
Clearly this was the spot which, under the name of the Hole of Cree, bore such a sinister reputation among the rustics.

I could not wonder at its impressing their imagination, for a more weird or gloomy scene, or one more worthy of the avenue which led to it, could not be conceived.
The steps passed down the declivity which surrounded the abyss, and we followed them with a sinking feeling in our hearts, as we realised that this was the end of our search.
A little way from the downward path was the return trail made by the feet of those who had come back from the chasm's edge.

Our eyes fell upon these tracks at the same moment, and we each gave a cry of horror, and stood gazing speechlessly at them.