All day today the rain poured down, rustling on the ivy and dripping from the eaves.

I thought of the convict out upon the bleak, cold, shelterless moor.

Poor devil! Whatever his crimes, he has suffered something to atone for them.

And then I thought of that other one--the face in the cab, the figure against the moon.

Was he also out in that deluged--the unseen watcher, the man of darkness?
In the evening I put on my waterproof and I walked far upon the sodden moor, full of dark imaginings, the rain beating upon my face and the wind whistling about my ears.