I did not dare to follow.
After waiting some time, and listening till all was quiet in the house, I could bear the suspense no longer and went out.
I thought I should find him on the Flat--probably in his favourite walk, his "terrace," as he called it, where he had first seen, and must have seen many a day after, that girlish figure tripping lightly along through the morning sunshine and morning dew.

I had a sort of instinct that he would be there now; so I climbed up the shortest way, often losing my footing; for it was a pitch-dark night, and the common looked as wide, and black, and still, as a midnight sea.
John was not there; indeed, if he had been I could scarcely have seen him; I could see nothing but the void expanse of the Flat, or, looking down, the broad river of mist that rolled through the valley, on the other side of which twinkled a few cottage lights, like unearthly beacons from the farthest shore of an impassable flood.
Suddenly I remembered hearing Mrs.Tod say that, on account of its pits and quarries, the common was extremely dangerous after dark, except to those who knew it well.

In a horrible dread I called out John's name--but nothing answered.

I went on blindly, desperately shouting as I went.

At length, in one of the Roman fosses, I stumbled and fell.
Some one came, darting with great leaps through the mist, and lifted me up.
"Oh! David--David!" "Phineas--is that you?
You have come out this bitter night--why did you ?" His tenderness over me, even then, made me break down.