"It is a bitter cold night, now the wind has shifted, and we are far enough away from Dead Man's Hole." "I am not bound for Dead Man's Hole.

We will to the ruined mill, and ask Miriam to give us shelter for the night.

We have ridden far, and our steeds are weary.

I trow she will give us a welcome." This proposition seemed to give general satisfaction.

The men plodded on after their leader, who kept Cuthbert close beside him, and they all moved across the heath in an irregular fashion, following some path known only to themselves, until they reached the wooded track to the left, and plunged into the brushwood again, picking their way carefully as they went, and all the while descending lower and lower into the hollow, till the rush of water became more and more distinctly audible, and Cuthbert knew by the sound that they must be approaching a waterfall of some kind.
One of the men had ridden forward to give notice of their approach, and soon in the flickering moonlight the gray walls of an ancient mill, now greatly fallen to decay, became visible to the travellers' eyes.