Poor devil! Whatever his crimes, he has suffered something to atone for them.

And then I thought of that other one--the face in the cab, the figure against the moon.

Was he also out in that deluged--the unseen watcher, the man of darkness?
In the evening I put on my waterproof and I walked far upon the sodden moor, full of dark imaginings, the rain beating upon my face and the wind whistling about my ears.

God help those who wander into the great mire now, for even the firm uplands are becoming a morass.

I found the black tor upon which I had seen the solitary watcher, and from its craggy summit I looked out myself across the melancholy downs.