We had just reached the summit when the sun went down. The low grounds at
the other side were already lying in cold grey shadow, and I got the man
who sat behind to point out as well as he could the site of Bartram-Haugh.
But mist was gathering over all by this time. The filmy disk of the moon
which was to light us on, so soon as twilight faded into night, hung high
in air. I tried to see the sable mass of wood which he described. But it
was vain, and to acquire a clear idea of the place, as of its master, I
must only wait that nearer view which an hour or two more would afford me.
And now we rapidly descended the mountain side. The scenery was wilder
and bolder than I was accustomed to. Our road skirted the edge of a great
heathy moor. The silvery light of the moon began to glimmer, and we passed
a gipsy bivouac with fires alight and caldrons hanging over them. It was
the first I had seen. Two or three low tents; a couple of dark, withered
crones, veritable witches; a graceful girl standing behind, gazing after
us; and men in odd-shaped hats, with gaudy waistcoats and bright-coloured
neck-handkerchiefs and gaitered legs, stood lazily in front.
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