It was about sunset (although we couldn't see the sun), there was a dark red glow over everything as if it were angry with us.
Up here on the moor the wind shrieked and roared and tore the poor sheep from the fold, and the little sea-crows from their nests.

I sat here alone, for it was the year when my husband and baby had died, and, oh, I was lonely, child! I moaned with the wind, and my tears fell like the rain.

I heaped the furze on the fire and kept a good blaze; it was cold, for it was late in October.

It grew darker and darker, and I sat on through the night, and gradually my ears got used to the raging of the storm, I suppose, for I fell asleep, sitting here under the chimney, but suddenly I awoke.

The wind was shrieking louder than ever, and there in that dark corner by the spinning-wheel I saw a faint shadow that changed into the form of a woman.