nearly ten o'clock before
There is no icy chill like that . He did not look round when the door opened , though Phebe spoke to him ; for he could not face old Marlowe , or force himself to read the silent yet eloquent fingers , which only could utter words of reproach . The dumb old man stood on the threshold , gazing at his averted face and downcast head , and an inarticulate cry of mingled rage and grief broke from his silent lips , such as Phebe herself had never heard before , and which , years afterward , sounded at times in Roland Sefton 's ears . It was nearly ten o'clock before they were on the road , old Marlowe marching at the head of his horse , and Phebe mounted on her wiry little pony , while Roland Sefton rode in front of the wagon at times . Their progress was slow , for the oak furniture was heavy and the roads were rough , leading across the moor and down steep hills into valleys , with equally steep hills on the other side . The sky was covered with a thin mist drifting slowly before the wind , and when the moon shone through it , about two o'clock in the morning , it was the waning-moon looking sad and forlorn amid the floating vapor . The houses they passed were few and far between , showing no light or sign of life .