From another window I saw that on the far side of the mill stood an old stone dovecot.

If I could get there without leaving tracks I might find a hiding-place, for I argued that my enemies, if they thought I could move, would conclude I had made for open country, and would go seeking me on the moor.
I crawled down the broken ladder, scattering chaff behind me to cover my footsteps.

I did the same on the mill floor, and on the threshold where the door hung on broken hinges.

Peeping out, I saw that between me and the dovecot was a piece of bare cobbled ground, where no footmarks would show.

Also it was mercifully hid by the mill buildings from any view from the house.