shade; for colour had faded with the daylight.

My eye still roved over the sullen swell and along the moor-edge,
vanishing amidst the wildest scenery, when at one dim point, far in among
the marshes and the ridges, a light sprang up. "That is an _ignis
fatuus_," was my first thought; and I expected it would soon vanish. It
burnt on, however, quite steadily, neither receding nor advancing. "Is
it, then, a bonfire just kindled?" I questioned. I watched to see
whether it would spread: but no; as it did not diminish, so it did not
enlarge. "It may be a candle in a house," I then conjectured; "but if
so, I can never reach it. It is much too far away: and were it within a
yard of me, what would it avail? I should but knock at the door to have
it shut in my face."

And I sank down where I stood, and hid my face against the ground. I lay
still a while: the night-wind swept over the hill and over me, and died
moaning in the distance; the rain fell fast, wetting me afresh to the
skin. Could I but have stiffened to the still frost--the friendly
numbness of death--it might have pelted on; I should not have felt it;
but my yet living flesh shuddered at its chilling influence. I rose ere
long.

The light was yet there, shining dim but constant through the rain. I
tried to walk again: I dragged my exhausted limbs slowly towards it. It
led me aslant over the hill, through a wide bog, which would have been
impassable in winter, and was splashy and shaking even now, in the height
of summer. Here I fell twice; but as often I rose and rallied my
faculties. This light was my forlorn hope: I must gain it.

Having crossed the marsh, I saw a trace of white over the moor. I
approached it; it was a road or a track: it led straight up to the light,
which now beamed from a sort of knoll, amidst a clump of trees--firs,
apparently, from what I could distinguish of the character of their forms
and foliage through the gloom. My star vanished as I drew near: some
obstacle had intervened between me and it. I put out my hand to feel the
dark mass before me: I discriminated the rough stones of a low wall--above
it, something like palisades, and within, a high and prickly hedge. I
groped on. Again a whitish object gleamed before me: it was a gate--a
wicket; it moved on its hinges as I touched it. On each side stood a
sable bush-holly or yew.

Entering the gate and passing the shrubs, the silhouette of a house rose
to view, black,