He felt with numbed hands the face of the gateposts.

Here was an entrance to some dwelling, and it stood open.
The path led through it, and if he left the path he would without doubt perish in a bog-hole.

In his desolation he longed for a human face.

He might find a good fellow who would house him; at the worst he would get direction about the road.

So he passed the gateway and entered an avenue.
It ran between trees which took the force of the downpour, so that it seemed a very sanctuary after the open moor.