As Harry Shanks had said, and
almost everybody knew, an ancient foot-path, little used, but never yet
obstructed, cut off a large bend of the shore, and saved half a mile
of plodding over rock and shingle. This path was very lonesome, and
infested with dark places, as well as waylaid with a very piteous ghost,
who never would keep to the spot where he was murdered, but might appear
at any shady stretch or woody corner. Dan Tugwell knew three courageous
men who had seen this ghost, and would take good care to avoid any
further interview, and his own faith in ghosts was as stanch as in gold;
yet such was his mood this evening that he determined to go that way
and chance it, not for the saving of distance, but simply because he
had been told in the yard that day that the foot-path was stopped by the
landowner. "We'll see about that," said Dan; and now he was going to see
about it.
For the first field or two there was no impediment, except the usual
stile or gate; but when he had crossed a little woodland hollow, where
the fence of the castle grounds ran down to the brow of the cliff, he
found entrance barred. Three stout oak rails had been nailed across
from tree to tree, and on a board above them was roughly painted: "No
thoroughfare. Tresspassers will be prosecuted." For a moment the young
man hesitated, his dread of the law being virtuously deep, and his
mind well assured that his father would not back him up against settled
authorities.
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