It was exactly one form of Bessie's Gytrash--a lion-like creature with long hair and a huge head: it passed me, however, quietly enough; not staying to look up, with strange pretercanine eyes, in my face, as I half expected it would.

The horse followed,--a tall steed, and on its back a rider.

The man, the human being, broke the spell at once.

Nothing ever rode the Gytrash: it was always alone; and goblins, to my notions, though they might tenant the dumb carcasses of beasts, could scarce covet shelter in the commonplace human form.

No Gytrash was this,--only a traveller taking the short cut to Millcote.