CHAPTER XVIII.
THE BLACK HOUND.
Pah! Let us escape anywhere for a breath of fresh air, for even the scent of a clean turf.

We have been watching saints and martyrs--perhaps not long enough for the good of our souls, but surely too long for the comfort of our bodies.

Let us away up the valley, where we shall find, it not indeed a fresh healthful breeze (for the drought lasts on), at least a cool refreshing down-draught from Carcarrow Moor before the sun gets up.

It is just half-past four o'clock, on a glorious August morning.

We shall have three hours at least before the heavens become one great Dutch-oven again.
We shall have good company, too, in our walk; for here comes Campbell fresh from his morning's swim, swinging up the silent street toward Frank Headley's lodging.
He stops, and tosses a pebble against the window-pane.