Unfortunately, Tristram could not see in the gloom that the canal here took a sharp bend inland, and in consequence he tramped on with his face set almost due south, nothing doubting of his direction, but hoping, as each hour passed, that the next would bring him within sound of the surf.

The road ran straight for mile after mile.

Now and again he passed a small cabaret brightly lit and merry with a noise of talk and laughter that warmed his heart for a moment.

In the stretches of darkness between he met one or two wayfarers, who wished him "Good night" in gruff voices and passed on.

Not understanding what they said, he made no reply, but pushed forward briskly, breaking into a run whenever the cold began to creep upon him.