Now as he had not an idea where his rider wanted to be carried, and as
John did for a while--he confessed it--fall into a reverie or something
worse, old Sturdy had to choose for himself where to go, and took a path
he had often had to take some years before; nor did John discover that he
was out of the way, until he felt him going steep clown, and thought of
Sleipner bearing Hermod to the realm of Hela. But he let him keep on,
wishing to know, as he said, what the old fellow was up to. Presently, he
came to a dead halt.
John had not the least notion where they were, but I knew the spot the
moment he began to describe it. By the removal of the peat on the side of
a slope, the skeleton of the hill had been a little exposed, and had for
a good many years been blasted for building-stones. Nothing was going on
in the quarry at present. Above, it was rather a dangerous place; there
was a legend of man and horse having fallen into it, and both being
killed. John had never seen or heard of it.
When his horse stopped, he became aware of an indefinite sensation which
inclined him to await the expected moon before attempting either to
advance or return. He thought afterward it might have been some feeling
of the stone about him, but at the time he took the place for an abrupt
natural dip of the surface of the moor, in the bottom of which might be a
pool.
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