The sky was grey, and there were dark clouds creeping up from the sea-line.

Silvery Windermere had taken a leaden hue; and now they turned their last fond look upon the Westmoreland valley, and set their faces steadily towards Cumberland, and the fine grassy plateau on the top of the hill.
All this was not done in a flash.

It took them some time to scale Dolly's stubborn breast, and it took them another hour to reach Seat Sandal; and by the time they came to the iron gate in the fence, which at this point divides the two counties, the atmosphere had thickened ominously, and dark wreaths of fog were floating about and around them, whirled here and there by a boisterous wind which shrieked and roared at them with savage fury, as if it were the voice of some Titan monarch of the mountain protesting against this intrusion upon his domain.
'I'm afraid you won't see the Scottish hills,' shouted Mary, holding on her little cloth hat.
She was obliged to shout at the top of her voice, though she was close to Mr.Hammond's elbow, for that shrill screaming wind would have drowned the voice of a stentor.
'Never mind the view,' replied Hammond in the same fortissimo, 'but I really wish I hadn't brought you up here.

If this fog should get any worse, it may be dangerous.' 'The fog is sure to get worse,' said Mary, in a brief lull of the hurly-burly, 'but there is no danger.

I know every inch of the hill, and I am not a bit afraid.