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Rh “An American,” she repeated in the same quaint musical tones. “I have never before seen an American.”

For a moment she stood silent, then looking at me she said: “if you should walk all night you could not reach Kerselec now, even if you had a guide.”

This was pleasant news.

“But,” I began, “if I could only find a peasant’s hut where I might get something to eat, and shelter.”

The falcon on her wrist fluttered and shook its head. The girl smoothed its glossy back and glanced at me.

“Look around,” she said gently. “Can you see the end of these moors? Look, north, south, east, west. Can you see anything but moorland and bracken?”

“No,” I said.

“The moor is wild and desolate. It is easy to enter, but sometimes they who enter never leave it. There are no peasants’ huts here.”

“Well,” I said “if you will tell me in which direction Kerselec lies, to-morrow it will take me no longer to go back than it has to come.”

She looked at me again with an expression almost like pity.

“Ah,” she said, “to come is easy and takes hours; to go is different—and may take centuries.”

I stared at her in amazement but decided that I had misunderstood her. Then before I had time to speak she drew a whistle from her belt and sounded it.

“Sit down and rest,” she said to me; “you have come a long distance and are tired.”

She gathered up her pleated skirts and