It was pitiful
to see the hay afloat like water-weeds, and the green oats scarcely
showing above the black floods. In two minutes after starting I was wet
to the skin, and I thanked Providence I had left my little Dutch
_Horace_ behind me in the book-box. By three in the afternoon I was as
unkempt as any tinker, my hair plastered over my eyes, and every fold
of my coat running like a gutter.
Presently the time came for me to leave the road and take the short-cut
over the moors; but in the deluge, where the eyes could see no more
than a yard or two into a grey wall of rain, I began to misdoubt my
knowledge of the way. On the left I saw a stone dovecot and a cluster
of trees about a gateway; so, knowing how few and remote were the
dwellings on the moorland, I judged it wiser to seek guidance before I
strayed too far.
The place was grown up with grass and sore neglected. Weeds made a
carpet on the avenue, and the dykes were broke by cattle at a dozen
places. Suddenly through the falling water there stood up the gaunt end
of a house. It was no cot or farm, but a proud mansion, though badly
needing repair. A low stone wall bordered a pleasance, but the garden
had fallen out of order, and a dial-stone lay flat on the earth.
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