of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the
position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen. It was still
profoundly dark; but the wind, which had begun to blow with some
violence, chased the clouds rapidly across the heavens, and dispersed
the vapours hanging nearer the earth. Sometimes the moon was totally
eclipsed; at others, it shed a wan and ghastly glimmer over the masses
rolling in the firmament. Not a star could be discerned, but, in their
stead, streaks of lurid radiance, whence proceeding it was impossible to
determine, shot ever and anon athwart the dusky vault, and added to the
ominous and threatening appearance of the night.

Alarmed by these prognostications of a storm, and feeling too much
exhausted from his late severe treatment to proceed further on foot,
Wood endeavoured to find a tavern where he might warm and otherwise
refresh himself. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on
the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung
the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter."

"Let me have a glass of brandy," said he, addressing the host.

"Too late, master," replied the landlord of the Trumpeter, in a surly
tone, for he did not much like the appearance of his customer; "just
shut up shop."

"Zounds! David Pugh, don't you know your old friend and countryman?"
exclaimed the carpenter.

"Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. "What the devil
makes you out so late? And what has happened to you, man, eh?--you seem
in a queer plight."