“What is a moor?” she said suddenly to Mrs. Medlock.

“Look out of the window in about ten minutes and you’ll see,” the woman answered.  “We’ve got to drive five miles across Missel Moor before we get to the Manor.  You won’t see much because it’s a dark night, but you can see something.”

Mary asked no more questions but waited in the darkness of her corner, keeping her eyes on the window.  The carriage lamps cast rays of light a little distance ahead of them and she caught glimpses of the things they passed.  After they had left the station they had driven through a tiny village and she had seen whitewashed cottages and the lights of a public house.  Then they had passed a church and a vicarage and a little shop-window or so in a cottage with toys and sweets and odd things set out for sale.  Then they were on the highroad and she saw hedges and trees.  After that there seemed nothing different for a long time—­or at least it seemed a long time to her.

At last the horses began to go more slowly, as if they were climbing up-hill, and presently there seemed to be no more hedges and no more trees.  She could see nothing, in fact, but a dense darkness on either side.  She leaned forward and pressed her face against the window just as the carriage gave a big jolt.

“Eh!  We’re on the moor now sure enough,” said Mrs. Medlock.

The carriage lamps shed a yellow light on a rough-looking road which seemed to be cut through bushes and low growing things which ended in the great expanse of dark apparently spread out before and around them.  A wind was rising and making a singular, wild, low, rushing sound.

“It’s—­it’s not the sea, is it?” said Mary, looking round at her companion.

“No, not it,” answered Mrs. Medlock.  “Nor it isn’t fields nor mountains, it’s just miles and miles and miles of wild land that nothing grows on but heather and gorse and broom, and nothing lives on but wild ponies and sheep.”

“I feel as if it might be the sea, if there were water on it,” said Mary.  “It sounds like the sea just now.”

“That’s the wind blowing through the bushes,” Mrs. Medlock said.  “It’s a wild, dreary enough place to my mind, though there’s plenty that likes it—­particularly when the heather’s in bloom.”

On and on they drove through the darkness, and though the rain stopped, the wind rushed by and whistled and made strange sounds.  The road went up and down, and several times the carriage passed over a little bridge beneath which water rushed very fast with a great deal of noise.  Mary felt as if the drive would never come to an end and that the wide, bleak moor was a wide expanse of black ocean through which she was passing on a strip of dry land.

“I don’t like it,” she said to herself.  “I don’t like it,” and she pinched her thin lips more tightly together.

The horses were climbing up a hilly piece of road when she first caught sight of a light.  Mrs. Medlock saw it as soon as she did and drew a long sigh of relief.