ee
my sword and shoes lying on the other bank."

He said farewell, slid down into the dyke again, and swam across.
Then, regaining his property, he turned, called back another "Good
night!" and bore resolutely across the meadow, the water squishing in
his shoes at every step. The one purpose in his head was to reach
the coast. He was young and sick of heart, but his gentle mind
abhorred from considering his father's baseness. He thought only of
home and Sophia.

In a minute or two he began to run; for the night air searched his
sodden clothes and chilled him. The sky was starless, too, but he
saw the dull gleam of the canal, and made for it. Then he followed
the towpath southward for half a mile, and came to a bridge, and
crossing it found himself upon a firm high-road leading (as it
seemed) straight towards the west, for it certainly diverged from the
canal at something like a right angle. Unfortunately, Tristram could
not see in the gloom that the canal here took a sharp bend inland,
and in consequence he tramped on with his face set almost due south,
nothing doubting of his direction, but hoping, as each hour passed,
that the next would bring him within sound of the surf. The road ran
straight for mile after mile. Now and again he passed a small
cabaret brightly lit and merry with a noise of talk and laughter
that warmed his heart for a moment. In the stretches of darkness
between he met one or two wayfarers, who wished him "Good night" in
gruff voices and passed on. Not understanding what they said, he
made no reply, but pushed forward briskly, breaking into a run
whenever the cold began to creep upon him. By and by the road was
completely deserted. The lights no longer shone from the lower
floors of the wayside cottages, but, after lingering for a while in
the bedroom windows, vanished altogether. The whole country slept.
Then followed hour after hour of dogged walking. A thick haze
encircled the moon, and under it a denser exhalation began to creep
up from the sodden land. In the silence the fog gathered till it
seemed to bar the way like a regiment of white ghosts, wavering and
closing its ranks as the wind stirred over the levels. This wind
breathed on his right cheek steadily. He never guessed that it came
from the sea, nor remembered that when he ran towards the canal it
had been blowing full in his face.

It was in the chilliest hour--the one before dawn--that a voice
suddenly called ou