He turned round. The bloodhound had
seized him by the coat and looked up to him with an expression
of affectionate remonstrance against his departure. Egremont
bent down, caressed Harold and released himself from his
grasp.
When Egremont left the cottage, he found the country enveloped
in a thick white mist, so that had it not been for some huge
black shadows which he recognized as the crests of trees, it
would have been very difficult to discriminate the earth from
the sky, and the mist thickening as he advanced, even these
fallacious landmarks threatened to disappear. He had to walk
to Mowbray to catch a night train for London. Every moment
was valuable, but the unexpected and increasing obscurity
rendered his progress slow and even perilous. The contiguity
to the river made every step important. He had according to
his calculations proceeded nearly as far as his old residence,
and notwithstanding the careless courage of youth and the
annoyance of relinquishing a project, intolerable at that
season of life, was meditating the expediency of renouncing
that night the attempt on Mowbray and of gaining his former
quarters for shelter. He stopped, as he had stopped several
times before, to calculate rather than to observe.
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