Brown's cottage is tenantless.

The pursuer must have known it when he breasted the hill.

A mixed sound, as of swearing and stumbling, comes from the direction of the stone steps.

The pursuer is evidently intoxicated, probably lunatic! "Quick, Molly!" gasps Ruth, "round by the back, and then cut down towards the young plantation, and make for the road again.

Don't stop for me." The little yard, the pigsty, the water-butt, fly past.