Sometimes he thought he saw a house ahead, and endeavored to quicken the pace of the old horse, but the house always transformed itself to a clump of hazel-brush as he drew nearer.

About nine o'clock the rain grew colder and the lightning less frequent.

Katy became entirely silent--Albert could feel her shiver now and then.

Thus, in numb misery, constantly hoping to see a house on ascending the next rise of ground and constantly suffering disappointment, they traveled on through the wretched monotony of that night.

The ceaseless plash of the rain, the slow tread of the horse's hoofs in the water, the roar of a distant thunderbolt--these were the only sounds they heard during the next hour--during the longer hour following--during the hours after that.