Even if the tears were not in his eyes, they were in the sky above us, for a blinding mist swept over us, and great clouds obscured the grim outlines of the mountains. The car was stopped, water-proof adjusted, and the pelting rain made me wish that I had waited at Oughterard. In the prevailing half obscurity the landscape had a strange charm, which was heightened by the feeling of complete loneliness that took possession of me. On either side of the road stretched a succession of dark lakes, backed by the mountains, which were now and then hidden by the rain.

Suddenly great rifts were torn in the now impenetrable rain gloom, and gave us glimpses of the sky; the dark mountains became more and more defined, and here and there gleams of gray light showed the streaks of silent water. Then the stars were every where, a dark line of mountains only dividing those of the sky from those mirrored in the lakes below. I was wet and tired, but not cold, for the rain was as warm as that of midsummer. As the car jogged on slower, with a creaking, straining effort as we ascended and with a reckless trot as we descended the hills, a feeling of exquisite repose came over me. The wild, strange scene showed not one cottage, not one cultivated field, yet there was something sad and human in it. Perhaps it was because the air was warm and the rain did not chill that I felt that nature, though savage, was kind; for while in the midst of these storms one felt protected and not injured by them. There was no moon; a soft twilight was given by the stars. Flanigan, on the other side of the car, was silent, save an occasional shrill whistle to his horse; and I, who had felt uneasy about our shelter for the night, now cared not should we be compelled to jog through all its long hours in this lonely road.