He blundered over the dark expanse of that great field as if Jason’s water-nymph herself had been calling to him. Blindly, recklessly, he ran across it, stumbling over the molehills, not once glancing up at the starry sky, his stick clutched in his right hand as if it had really been the spear of William of Deloraine, and his panting breath coming in deep gasps. As he ran he did notice one thing, and that was the shadowy leap of a startled hare. The creature rose and dashed away from under his very feet; but instead of disappearing into the darkness, he could see, as he ran, where it had risen erect, a short distance off, and was watching him, motionless and with a frozen intentness.

Ah! There it was⁠—Lenty Pond in the cold starlight!