In a little while John was tossing among the seaweed--into a bed of which his body had descended--and what further dreams (if any) he dreamed there beneath the waters, must remain untold till the Judgment Day. FOOTNOTES: [L] Little bit. [M] A cave. THE MAN WHO MET HATE. IT was drawing on towards midnight, and the world seemed very lonely. There was a huge, round harvest moon in the sky, and the hills were bathed in a kind of spectral splendour--a faint and filmy shimmer of silver that left the outlines of objects blurred and elusive, though the scene as a whole emerged clearly for the eye. The wind was sighing drowsily across the moors, while high on the rugged cairns on the hill-tops it was wuthering mournfully beneath the wan grey sky. And 'Lijah, staring sleeplessly through his blindless bedroom-window, felt a growing unrest in the very marrow of his bones. He could see down below, in the little lonesome cove, the cottage where Dorcas had now made her nest with that "darned gayte long-legged 'Miah" for her husband, and in the sudden heat and bitterness of his wrath his heart became like a live coal within him. "I'll have my revenge on un, ef I haang for it!" growled he. And then he remembered that up on yonder moors--whose ferns and granite boulders he could see plainly in the moonlight--there was a "gashly owld fogou,"[N] where, if a man went at midnight prepared to boldly summon Hate and to "turn a stone"[O] in her honour, his hatred would be accomplished for him "as sure as death." "An' I'll go there, ef I die for it!" said he grimly to himself. The village was asleep, and all its cottages were smokeless. There was no one stirring anywhere in the cove. But far out in the moonlit bay he could see the fishing-boats dotting the vast grey plain, and he knew that in one of them 'Miah Laity was fishing, and was no doubt thinking of Dorcas as he fished. "I'll spoil 'es thinkin' for un 'fore long," said 'Lijah, "ayven ef I have to sill me saul to do the job!" And with that he slipped on his coat and boots--for he had been standing at the window half undressed--and clapping on his cap as he passed through the kitchen, strode heavily and gloomily out of the house. On the moor he had only the breeze for company, and its long, vague wail, as it rustled across the ferns, merely deepened the moody irritation in his mind. He felt as sour as a fanatic and as gloomy as a thief. To find the fogou, among the bewildering growth of ferns, was by no means the easiest task in the world: for the rude cave-dwelling was literally buried in the hill-side; its entrance being hidden by the rank vegetation that here reached almost to Elijah's arm-pits. As he ploughed his way through the trackless tangle, giving vent the while to a superfluity of oaths, he presently stumbled on the entrance to the fogou, almost precipitating himself into its darkness, so suddenly had he stumbled on it, wading through the ferns.