It burnt into his ear.
He groped his way through the lane and on to the moor--trembling with physical exhaustion, the morbid frenzy within him choking his breath, the storm beating in his face.

What was that black mass to his right ?--the smithy?
A hard sob rose in his throat.

Oh, he had been so near to an ideal world of sweetness, purity, holiness! Was it a year ago?
With great difficulty he found the crossing-place in the brook, and then the gap in the wall which led him into the farm fields.

When he was still a couple of fields off the house he heard the dogs beginning.

But he heard them as though in a dream.
At last he stood at the door and fumbled for the handle.