A meadow
followed, and then he dropped over the hedge into the high road.
Here he stopped, set down the portmanteau, and looked about him.
All was quiet. So vivid was the moonlight that as looking down the
road he could mark every bush, every tuft of grass almost, on the
illumined side. Not a soul was in sight.
The night was warm, and his flight had heated him intolerably.
He felt for his handkerchief to mop his brow, but snatched his hand
away.
His coat was burning. It was the lantern. Like a fool he had
forgotten to blow it out, and an abominable smell of oil and burning
cloth now arose from his pocket. He stifled the smouldering fire,
pulled out the lantern, and looked at his watch.
It wanted twenty minutes to eleven.
He had plenty of time; so, having extinguished the lantern, and
bestowed it in another pocket, he caught up his burden and began to
walk up the road at a leisurely pace.
His terrors had cooled, but nevertheless he wished himself well out
of the scrape. The report of the gun still rang in his ears and in
fancy he could hear again the buzz of that bullet by his ear. More
than once a shadow lying across the white road gave him a twinge of
fear; and when a placid cow poked its nose over the hedge above him,
and lowed confidentially, he leapt almost out of his skin.
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