George was moody and captious all day; and at evening, having drank hard, he slipped off, and, gun in hand, rode away through the darkening woods towards the moor.
It was dark before he had got clear of the labyrinth of lanes through which he took his way.

His horse he turned out in a small croft close to where the heather began; and, having hid the saddle and bridle in a hedge, strode away over the moor with his gun on his shoulder.
He would not think; he would sooner whistle; distance seemed like nothing to him; and he was surprised and frightened to find himself already looking over the deep black gulf through which the river ran before he thought he was half-way there.
He paused to look before he began to descend.

A faint light still lingered in the frosty sky to the southwest, and majestic Yestor rose bold and black against it.

Down far, far beneath his feet was the river, dimly heard, but not seen; and, as he looked to where it should be, he saw a little flickering star, which arrested his attention.

That must be Lee's fire--there he began to descend.
Boldly at first, but afterwards more stealthily, and now more silently still, for the fire is close by, and it were well to give him no notice.