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, low, and rather long; but the guiding light
shone nowhere. All was obscurity. Were the inmates retired to
rest? I feared it must be so. In seeking the door, I turned an
angle: there shot out the friendly gleam again, from the lozenged
panes of a very small latticed window, within a foot of the ground,
made still smaller by the growth of ivy or some other creeping
plant, whose leaves clustered thick over the portion of the house
wall in which it was set. The aperture was so screened and narrow,
that curtain or shutter had been deemed unnecessary; and when I
stooped down and put aside the spray of foliage shooting over it, I
could see all within. I could see clearly a room with a sanded
floor, clean scoured; a dresser of walnut, with pewter plates ranged
in rows, reflecting the redness and radiance of a glowing peat-fire.
I could see a clock, a white deal table, some chairs. The candle,
whose ray had been my beacon, burnt on the table; and by its light
an elderly woman, somewhat rough-looking, but scrupulously clean,
like all about her, was knitting a stocking.
I noticed these objects cursorily only--in them there was nothing
extraordinary. A group of more interest appeared near the hearth,
sitting still amidst the rosy peace and warmth suffusing it. Two
young, graceful women--ladies in every point--sat, one in a low
rocking-chair, the other on a lower stool; both wore deep mourning
of crape and bombazeen, which sombre garb singularly set off very
fair necks and faces: a large old pointer dog rested its massive
head on the knee of one girl--in the lap of the other was cushioned
a black cat.