We were turning to go home when I saw, outlined as black as an
ebony statue against the moon, the figure of a man on the jagged
pinnacle of a granite tor. It was no illusion - a tall, thin figure,
standing with legs a little separated, his arms folded, his head bowed,
as if he were brooding over that enormous wilderness of peat & granite
which lay before him. He might have been the very spirit of that
terrible place. It was not the convict. This man was far from the
place where the latter had disappeared. Besides, he was a much taller
man. But in the instant that I turned to catch the baronet's attention,
the man vanished.
I wished to search the tor, but the baronet, who had not seen the
figure, was in no mood for fresh adventures. He said it was a warder, no
doubt, for the moor had been thick with them since the convict escaped.
