Publisher's Synopsis
The mist was low-lying. Above it the tops of the telegraph poles stuck out into the starlit night, marking the line of the road which wound over the desolate fen country. A few isolated houses stood like scattered islands in a sea of white cloud-houses in which the lights had long been extinguished, for it was nearing midnight, and the marsh folk do not sit up late.One house only proved the exception. In size and shape it was just as the others-a typical fenman's cottage. But from one side of it a diffused white glow shone faintly towards the line of telegraph posts. Above the mist the top room showed black and clear-cut. No light came from that window: the illumination came from the sitting-room below.
