" The way was lonely, often for two miles together he
met not a single soul with whom he could speak, and, looking at
the bleak fields and naked trees, he wished himself safe home
again. His only consolation was that he suffered these terrors
of the way alone. Had, for instance, his friend the "Idler" been
there he could have done nothing but lie down and die.
"At last the sun set and all the horrors of darkness came upon
him. . . . Yet he went forward along a path which he could no
longer see, sometimes rushing suddenly into water, and sometimes
encumbered with stiff clay, ignorant whither he was going, and
uncertain whether his next step might not be the last.
"In this dismal gloom of nocturnal peregrination his horse
unexpectedly stood still. Marvel had heard many relations of the
instinct of horses, and was in doubt what danger might be at
hand. Sometimes he fancied that he was on the bank of a river
still and deep, and sometimes that a dead body lay across the
track. He sat still awhile to recollect his thoughts; and as he
was about to alight and explore the darkness, out stepped a man
with a lantern, and opened the turnpike.
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