ABSTRACT

Lost in reflection, the increasing obscurity of the evening, occasioned by one of those heavy fogs which the peasants call a blight, increased, without Althea’s remarking it, till she could hardly discern the path she was in. She quickened her pace, and looked about her with some degree of uneasiness. There was something fearful in the stillness of the evening; for, unless it was the slow tread of the cattle she heard grazing near her, not a sound broke the air, except from a great distance the dull tinkling of a team with bells, necessary in narrow hollow ways, such as are frequent in this part of England – How poor a substitute for the songstress of the night, which is never heard in this western country –

‘With liquid notes to close the eye of day!’8

Amid this black and sullen stillness, which seemed like a general pause of nature, Althea at length reached the last field but one next the house, which appeared larger, and frowning in more sublime ruin through the half-obscuring mist.