By this time it was quite dark, and Pete was obliged to hold in his horses.

There was a quarter moon in the sky, just enough to give everything a spectral look, with no human habitation visible, and owls hooting dismally in the distance.
It was uncanny in the extreme, and even I felt the desolation, and became silent.

Pete whistled stoutly, but without enthusiasm, occasionally turning his head to make sure we were still there.

I could hear her quick breathing, and feel an occasional clutch of her fingers on my sleeve at some unusual sound.

Suddenly the negro pulled up before a high hedge, and I perceived the white glimmer of a gate opposite us, the black shadow of trees beyond.
"Here we am, sah," he whispered, glancing about fearful, "an' de good Lord knows I 'se glad tain't no furder.