was valuable, but the unexpected and increasing obscurity
rendered his progress slow and even perilous. The contiguity
to the river made every step important. He had according to
his calculations proceeded nearly as far as his old residence,
and notwithstanding the careless courage of youth and the
annoyance of relinquishing a project, intolerable at that
season of life, was meditating the expediency of renouncing
that night the attempt on Mowbray and of gaining his former
quarters for shelter. He stopped, as he had stopped several
times before, to calculate rather than to observe. The mist
was so thick that he could not see his own extended hand. It
was not the first time that it had occurred to him that some
one or something was hovering about his course.

"Who is there?" exclaimed Egremont. But no one answered.

He moved on a little, but very slowly. He felt assured that
his ear caught a contiguous step. He repeated his
interrogatory in a louder tone, but it obtained no response.
Again he stopped. Suddenly he was seized; an iron grasp
assailed his throat, a hand of steel griped his arm. The
unexpected onset hurried him on. The sound of waters assured
him that he was approaching the precipitous bank of that part
of the river which, from a ledge of pointed rocks, here formed
rapids. Vigorous and desperate, Egremont plunged like some
strong animal on whom a beast of prey had made a fatal spring.
His feet clung to the earth as if they were held by some
magnetic power. With his disengaged arm he grappled with his
mysterious and unseen foe.