After they had eaten, the rain quickened and shortly the storm was upon them again. They mounted their dripping horses and rode on into a blustering rain-belt, with the black clouds almost on their heads. When dark fell they came to the edge of the desolate, hawthorn-choked heath they had crossed for the greater part of the day. Their track rose to the top of a moorland stretch, up which the tired horses stumbled miserably. At the crown of the rise they halted in a small body and looked down before them. There stretched the river that they must cross, misty and leaden-coloured in the dim light. From where they stood it was impossible to see to the far bank, it was so broad. But all the air was filled with its rushing, gurgling voice as it ran, swollen by the rains, to the nearby sea, over
