Earl had dozed off to sleep.

He woke an hour after, let down the window, which let in a snow-laden
gust, and tried to pierce the gloom without.

'As black as Erebus!' he exclaimed, 'but we ought to be close at home by
this time. Yes, thank God, there are the lights.'

The carriage drew up a minute afterwards, and Steadman came to the door.

'Very sorry, my lord. The horses must have taken a wrong turn after we
crossed the bridge. And now the men say they can't go back to Fellside
unless we can get fresh horses; and I'm afraid there's no chance of that
here.'

'Here!' exclaimed the Earl, 'what do you mean by here? Where the devil
are we?'

'Great Langdale, my lord.'

A door opened and let out a flood of light--the red light of a wood
fire, the pale flame of a candle--upon the snowy darkness, revealing the
panelled hall of a neat little rustic inn: an eight-day clock ticking in
the corner, a black and white sheep-dog coming out at his master's heels
to investigate the travellers. To the right of the door showed the light
of a window, sheltered by a red curtain, behind which the chiefs of the
village were enjoying their evening.

'Have you any post-horses?' asked the Earl, discontentedly, as the
landlord stood on the threshold, shading the candle with his hand. 'No,