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Dan stood powerless. But for the gate behind him he would have turned
and ran; to scramble back over that, his limbs utterly refused. The
delay caused him, in spite of his fear, to discern the very obvious
fact, that the shadowy figure was not that of a woman habited in
white--as the orthodox ghost of Rachel ought to have been--but a man's,
wearing dark clothes. There flashed into Dan's remembrance the frequent
nightly visits of Robin Frost to the pond, bringing with it a ray of
relief.
Robin had been looked upon as little better than a lunatic since the
misfortune; but, to Dan Duff, he appeared in that moment worth his
weight in gold. Robin's companionship was as good as anybody's to ward
off the ghostly fears, and Dan set off, full speed, towards him. To go
right up to the pond would take him a few yards out of his way to Bill
Hook's. What of that? To exchange words with a human tongue, Dan, in
that moment of superstitious fright, would have gone as many miles.
He had run more than half the intervening distance, when he brought
himself to a halt.


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