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　stoop