At the beginning of the downs I stopped the carriage, paid and
dismissed the astonished post-boy and started off alone at a swinging
trot across the snow. Southward hung the white moon, now high in
heaven. It must be almost time. Along the old track I ran, still
clutching my bundle, over the frozen ruts, stumbling, slipping, but
with set teeth and straining muscles, skirted the hill above
Polkimbra with just a glimpse of the cottage roofs shining in the
hollow below, and raced along the cliffs towards Lantrig. I guessed
that Colliver would come across Polkimbra Beach, so had determined to
approach the rock from the northern side, over Ready-Money Cove.
Lantrig, my old home, was merrily lit up this Christmas Eve, and the
sight of it gave me one swift, sharp pang of anguish as I stole
cautiously downwards to the sands. At the cliff's foot I paused and
looked across the Cove.
Sable and gloomy as ever, Dead Man's Rock soared up against the moon,
the grim reality of that dark shadow which had lain upon all my
life. From it had my hate started; to it was I now at the last
returning.
Pages:
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429