For three hours I had met neither man nor man's dwelling, and
(for all I knew) was desperately lost. Indeed, at the cross roads, two
miles back, there had been nothing for me but to choose the way that
kept the wind on my face, and it gnawed me like a dog.
Mainly to allay the stinging of my eyes, I pulled up at last, turned
right-about face, leant back against the blast with a hand on my hat,
and surveyed the blackness I had traversed. It was at this instant
that, far away to the left, a point of light caught my notice, faint
but steady; and at once I felt sure it burnt in the window of a house.
"The house," thought I, "is a good mile off, beside the other road,
and the light must have been an inch over my hat-brim for the
last half hour," for my head had been sloped that way. This
reflection--that on so wide a moor I had come near missing the
information I wanted (and perhaps a supper) by one inch--sent a strong
thrill down my back.
[Illustration: "I ... TRIED A STEP TOWARD THE STAIRS, WITH EYES ALERT
FOR ANY MOVEMENT OF THE MASTIFF."]
I cut straight across the heather towards the light, risking quags
and pitfalls. Nay, so heartening was the chance to hear a
fellow-creature's voice that I broke into a run, skipping over the
stunted gorse that cropped up here and there, and dreading every
moment to see the light quenched.
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