The wind had fallen again in
the meanwhile; the night was as black as the grave; not a star, nor
a glimmer of moonshine, slipped through the canopy of cloud. Denis
was ill-acquainted with the intricate lanes of Chateau Landon; even
by daylight he had found some trouble in picking his way; and in
this absolute darkness he soon lost it altogether. He was certain
of one thing only - to keep mounting the hill; for his friend's
house lay at the lower end, or tail, of Chateau Landon, while the
inn was up at the head, under the great church spire. With this
clue to go upon he stumbled and groped forward, now breathing more
freely in open places where there was a good slice of sky overhead,
now feeling along the wall in stifling closes. It is an eerie and
mysterious position to be thus submerged in opaque blackness in an
almost unknown town. The silence is terrifying in its
possibilities. The touch of cold window bars to the exploring hand
startles the man like the touch of a toad; the inequalities of the
pavement shake his heart into his mouth; a piece of denser darkness
threatens an ambuscade or a chasm in the pathway; and where the air
is brighter, the houses put on strange and bewildering appearances,
as if to lead him farther from his way. For Denis, who had to
regain his inn without attracting notice, there was real danger as
well as mere discomfort in the walk; and he went warily and boldly
at once, and at every corner paused to make an observation.
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