As the night was fast falling,and as the moon,being past the full,would not rise early,we held a little council:a short one,for clearly our course was to lie by at the first lonely tavern we could find.So,they plied their oars once more,and I looked out for anything like a house.Thus we held on,speaking little,for four or five dull miles.It was very cold,and,a collier coming by us,with her gallery-fire smoking and flaring,looked like a comfortable home.The night was as dark by this time as it would be until morning;and what light we had,seemed to come more from the river than the sky,as the oars in their dipping stuck at a few reflected stars.
