Thirst was my chief torment.

My tongue was like a stick, and to make it worse I could hear the cool drip of water from the mill-lade.

I watched the course of the little stream as it came in from the moor, and my fancy followed it to the top of the glen, where it must issue from an icy fountain fringed with cool ferns and mosses.

I would have given a thousand pounds to plunge my face into that.
I had a fine prospect of the whole ring of moorland.

I saw the car speed away with two occupants, and a man on a hill pony riding east.