Guessing rather than judging my way, I stumbled steadily forward until
I reached what I imagined must be about the centre of the wood. By
this time I was wet through to the skin. The thin parti-coloured
"slop" that I was wearing was quite useless for keeping out the rain,
a remark that applied with almost equal force to my prison-made
breeches and gaiters. Apart from the discomfort, however, I was not
much disturbed. I have never been an easy victim to chills, and three
years in Princetown had done nothing to soften a naturally tough
constitution.

Still there was no sense in getting more soaked than was necessary, so
I began to hunt around for some sort of temporary shelter. I found it
at last in the shape of a huge block of granite, half hidden by the
brambles and stunted trees which had grown up round it. Parting the
undergrowth and crawling carefully in, I discovered at the base a kind
of hollow crevice just long enough to lie down in at full length.

I can't say it was exactly comfortable, but penal servitude has at
least the merit of saving one from being over-luxurious. Besides, I
was much too interested in watching the steady thickening of the mist
outside to worry myself about trifles. With a swiftness which would
have been incredible to any one who didn't know the Moor, the damp
clammy vapour was settling down, blotting out everything in its grey
haze. Except for the dripping brambles immediately outside I could
soon see absolutely nothing; beyond that it was like staring into a
blanket.

I lay there quite motionless, listening very intently for any sound of
my pursuers. Only the persistent drip, drip of the rain, however, and
the occasional rustle of a bird, broke the silence. If there were any