The rain had ceased, and the clouds were breaking away from the eastern horizon, where the first crimson streak heralded the rising sun.
They rowed swiftly towards the heights, which now appeared not so much like the boundaries of a valley as the hilly shores of an inland sea.
Yes, the Black Valley seemed indeed transformed into a black lake, surrounded with wooded hills, and dotted with wooded isles; but these seeming hills were really mountains, and these seeming isles were the tops of submerged trees.
They rowed to the nearest point of land and stopped the boat, where a little path led up the steep ascent.
"Do you see that path?" inquired the elder man of the old woman.
"Yes, my dear gentleman, I do," said Miss Tabby.
"Do you know where it leads?"
"Yes, my dear gentleman; it leads to a cluster of quarrymen's cottages."
"Then get out of the boat and go up there; there you will find shelter."
"But, my good sir, my sick lady?" inquired Miss Tabby, hesitating.