For a few moments Somerset doubted and stood still.

The wire sang on overhead with dying falls and melodious rises that invited him to follow; while above the wire rode the stars in their courses, the low nocturn of the former seeming to be the voices of those stars, 'Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim.' Recalling himself from these reflections Somerset decided to follow the lead of the wire.

It was not the first time during his present tour that he had found his way at night by the help of these musical threads which the post-office authorities had erected all over the country for quite another purpose than to guide belated travellers.

Plunging with it across the down he came to a hedgeless road that entered a park or chase, which flourished in all its original wildness.

Tufts of rushes and brakes of fern rose from the hollows, and the road was in places half overgrown with green, as if it had not been tended for many years; so much so that, where shaded by trees, he found some difficulty in keeping it.