The
Hill
of
Dreams
By
Arthur
Machen
Frontispiece
by
S.H.
Syme
.
London
E
.
Grant
Richards
1907
I
There
was
a
glow
in
the
sky
as
if
great
furnace
doors
were
opened
.
But
all
the
afternoon
his
eyes
had
looked
on
glamour
;
he
had
strayed
in
fairyland
.
The
holidays
were
nearly
done
,
and
Lucian
Taylor
had
gone
out
resolved
to
lose
himself
,
to
discover
strange
hills
and
prospects
that
he
had
never
seen
before
.
The
air
was
still
,
breathless
,
exhausted
after
heavy
rain
,
and
the
clouds
looked
as
if
they
had
been
molded
of
lead
.
No
breeze
blew
upon
the
hill
,
and
down
in
the
well
of
the
valley
not
a
dry
leaf
stirred
,
not
a
bough
shook
in
all
the
dark
January
woods
.
About
a
mile
from
the
rectory
he
had
diverged
from
the
main
road
by
an
opening
that
promised
mystery
and
adventure
.
It
was
an
old
neglected
lane
,
little
more
than
a
ditch
,
worn
ten
feet
deep
by
its
winter
waters
,
and
shadowed
by
great
untrimmed
hedges
,
densely
woven
together
.
On
each
side
were
turbid
streams
,
and
here
and
there
a
torrent
of
water
gushed
down
the
banks
,
flooding
the
lane
.
It
was
so
deep
and
dark
that
he
could
not
get
a
glimpse
of
the
country
through
which
he
was
passing
,
but
the
way
went
down
and
down
to
some
unconjectured
hollow
.
Perhaps
he
walked
two
miles
between
the
high
walls
of
the
lane
before
its
descent
ceased
,
but
he
thrilled
with
the
sense
of
having
journeyed
very
far
,
all
the
long
way
from
the
know
to
the
unknown
.
He
had
come
as
it
were
into
the
bottom
of
a
bowl
amongst
the
hills
,
and
black
woods
shut
out
the
world
.
From
the
road
behind
him
,
from
the
road
before
him
,
from
the
unseen
wells
beneath
the
trees
,
rivulets
of
waters
swelled
and
streamed
down
towards
the
center
to
the
brook
that
crossed
the
lane
.
Amid
the
dead
and
wearied
silence
of
the
air
,
beneath
leaden
and
motionless
clouds
,
it
was
strange
to
hear
such
a
tumult
of
gurgling
and
rushing
water
,
and
he
stood
for
a
while
on
the
quivering
footbridge
and
watched
the
rush
of
dead
wood
and
torn
branches
and
wisps
of
straw
,
all
hurrying
madly
past
him
,
to
plunge
into
the
heaped
spume
,
the
barmy
froth
that
had
gathered
against
a
fallen
tree
.
Then
he
climbed
again
,
and
went
up
between
limestone
rocks
,
higher
and
higher
,
till
the
noise
of
waters
became
indistinct
,
a
faint
humming
of
swarming
hives
in
summer
.
He
walked
some
distance
on
level
ground
,
till
there
was
a
break
in
the
banks
and
a
stile
on
which
he
could
lean
and
look
out
.
He
found
himself
,
as
he
had
hoped
,
afar
and
forlorn
;
he
had
strayed
into
outland
and
occult
territory
.
From
the
eminence
of
the
lane
,
skirting
the
brow
of
a
hill
,
he
looked
down
into
deep
valleys
and
dingles
,
and
beyond
,
across
the
trees
,
to
remoter
country
,
wild
bare
hills
and
dark
wooded
lands
meeting
the
grey
still
sky
.
Immediately
beneath
his
feet
the
ground
sloped
steep
down
to
the
valley
,
a
hillside
of
close
grass
patched
with
dead
bracken
,
and
dotted
here
and
there
with
stunted
thorns
,
and
below
there
were
deep
oak
woods
,
all
still
and
silent
,
and
lonely
as
if
no
one
ever
passed
that
way
.
The
grass
and
bracken
and
thorns
and
woods
,
all
were
brown
and
grey
beneath
the
leaden
sky
,
and
as
Lucian
looked
he
was
amazed
,
as
though
he
were
reading
a
wonderful
story
,
the
meaning
of
which
was
a
little
greater
than
his
understanding
.
Then
,
like
the
hero
of
a
fairy-book
,
he
went
on
and
on
,
catching
now
and
again
glimpses
of
the
amazing
country
into
which
he
had
penetrated
,
and
perceiving
rather
than
seeing
that
as
the
day
waned
everything
grew
more
grey
and
somber
.
As
he
advanced
he
heard
the
evening
sounds
of
the
farms
,
the
low
of
the
cattle
,
and
the
barking
of
the
sheepdogs
;
a
faint
thin
noise
from
far
away
.
It
was
growing
late
,
and
as
the
shadows
blackened
he
walked
faster
,
till
once
more
the
lane
began
to
descend
,
there
was
a
sharp
turn
,
and
he
found
himself
,
with
a
good
deal
of
relief
,
and
a
little
disappointment
,
on
familiar
ground
.
He
had
nearly
described
a
circle
,
and
knew
this
end
of
the
lane
very
well
;
it
was
not
much
more
than
a
mile
from
home
.
He
walked
smartly
down
the
hill
;
the
air
was
all
glimmering
and
indistinct
,
transmuting
trees
and
hedges
into
ghostly
shapes
,
and
the
walls
of
the
White
House
Farm
flickered
on
the
hillside
,
as
if
they
were
moving
towards
him
.
Then
a
change
came
.
First
,
a
little
breath
of
wind
brushed
with
a
dry
whispering
sound
through
the
hedges
,
the
few
leaves
left
on
the
boughs
began
to
stir
,
and
one
or
two
danced
madly
,
and
as
the
wind
freshened
and
came
up
from
a
new
quarter
,
the
sapless
branches
above
rattled
against
one
another
like
bones
.
The
growing
breeze
seemed
to
clear
the
air
and
lighten
it
.
He
was
passing
the
stile
where
a
path
led
to
old
Mrs.
Gibbon
's
desolate
little
cottage
,
in
the
middle
of
the
fields
,
at
some
distance
even
from
the
lane
,
and
he
saw
the
light
blue
smoke
of
her
chimney
rise
distinct
above
the
gaunt
greengage
trees
,
against
a
pale
band
that
was
broadening
along
the
horizon
.
As
he
passed
the
stile
with
his
head
bent
,
and
his
eyes
on
the
ground
,
something
white
started
out
from
the
black
shadow
of
the
hedge
,
and
in
the
strange
twilight
,
now
tinged
with
a
flush
from
the
west
,
a
figure
seemed
to
swim
past
him
and
disappear
.
For
a
moment
he
wondered
who
it
could
be
,
the
light
was
so
flickering
and
unsteady
,
so
unlike
the
real
atmosphere
of
the
day
,
when
he
recollected
it
was
only
Annie
Morgan
,
old
Morgan
's
daughter
at
the
White
House
.
She
was
three
years
older
than
he
,
and
it
annoyed
him
to
find
that
though
she
was
only
fifteen
,
there
had
been
a
dreadful
increase
in
her
height
since
the
summer
holidays
.
He
had
got
to
the
bottom
of
the
hill
,
and
,
lifting
up
his
eyes
,
saw
the
strange
changes
of
the
sky
.
The
pale
band
had
broadened
into
a
clear
vast
space
of
light
,
and
above
,
the
heavy
leaden
clouds
were
breaking
apart
and
driving
across
the
heaven
before
the
wind
.
He
stopped
to
watch
,
and
looked
up
at
the
great
mound
that
jutted
out
from
the
hills
into
mid-valley
.
It
was
a
natural
formation
,
and
always
it
must
have
had
something
of
the
form
of
a
fort
,
but
its
steepness
had
been
increased
by
Roman
art
,
and
there
were
high
banks
on
the
summit
which
Lucian
's
father
had
told
him
were
the
vallum
of
the
camp
,
and
a
deep
ditch
had
been
dug
to
the
north
to
sever
it
from
the
hillside
.
On
this
summit
oaks
had
grown
,
queer
stunted-looking
trees
with
twisted
and
contorted
trunks
,
and
writhing
branches
;
and
these
now
stood
out
black
against
the
lighted
sky
.
And
then
the
air
changed
once
more
;
the
flush
increased
,
and
a
spot
like
blood
appeared
in
the
pond
by
the
gate
,
and
all
the
clouds
were
touched
with
fiery
spots
and
dapples
of
flame
;
here
and
there
it
looked
as
if
awful
furnace
doors
were
being
opened
.
The
wind
blew
wildly
,
and
it
came
up
through
the
woods
with
a
noise
like
a
scream
,
and
a
great
oak
by
the
roadside
ground
its
boughs
together
with
a
dismal
grating
jar
.
As
the
red
gained
in
the
sky
,
the
earth
and
all
upon
it
glowed
,
even
the
grey
winter
fields
and
the
bare
hillsides
crimsoned
,
the
waterpools
were
cisterns
of
molten
brass
,
and
the
very
road
glittered
.
He
was
wonder-struck
,
almost
aghast
,
before
the
scarlet
magic
of
the
afterglow
.
The
old
Roman
fort
was
invested
with
fire
;
flames
from
heaven
were
smitten
about
its
walls
,
and
above
there
was
a
dark
floating
cloud
,
like
fume
of
smoke
,
and
every
haggard
writhing
tree
showed
as
black
as
midnight
against
the
black
of
the
furnace
.
When
he
got
home
he
heard
his
mother
's
voice
calling
:
"
Here
's
Lucian
at
last
.
Mary
,
Master
Lucian
has
come
,
you
can
get
the
tea
ready
.
"
He
told
a
long
tale
of
his
adventures
,
and
felt
somewhat
mortified
when
his
father
seemed
perfectly
acquainted
with
the
whole
course
of
the
lane
,
and
knew
the
names
of
the
wild
woods
through
which
he
had
passed
in
awe
.
"
You
must
have
gone
by
the
Darren
,
I
suppose
"
â
€
”
that
was
all
he
said
.
"
Yes
,
I
noticed
the
sunset
;
we
shall
have
some
stormy
weather
.
I
do
n't
expect
to
see
many
in
church
tomorrow
.
"
There
was
buttered
toast
for
tea
"
because
it
was
holidays
.
"
The
red
curtains
were
drawn
,
and
a
bright
fire
was
burning
,
and
there
was
the
old
familiar
furniture
,
a
little
shabby
,
but
charming
from
association
.
It
was
much
pleasanter
than
the
cold
and
squalid
schoolroom
;
and
much
better
to
be
reading
Chambers
's
Journal
than
learning
Euclid
;
and
better
to
talk
to
his
father
and
mother
than
to
be
answering
such
remarks
as
:
"
I
say
,
Taylor
,
I
've
torn
my
trousers
;
how
much
do
you
charge
for
mending
?
"
"
Lucy
,
dear
,
come
quick
and
sew
this
button
on
my
shirt
.
"
That
night
the
storm
woke
him
,
and
he
groped
with
his
hands
amongst
the
bedclothes
,
and
sat
up
,
shuddering
,
not
knowing
where
he
was
.
He
had
seen
himself
,
in
a
dream
,
within
the
Roman
fort
,
working
some
dark
horror
,
and
the
furnace
doors
were
opened
and
a
blast
of
flame
from
heaven
was
smitten
upon
him
.
Lucian
went
slowly
,
but
not
discreditably
,
up
the
school
,
gaining
prizes
now
and
again
,
and
falling
in
love
more
and
more
with
useless
reading
and
unlikely
knowledge
.
He
did
his
elegiacs
and
iambics
well
enough
,
but
he
preferred
exercising
himself
in
the
rhymed
Latin
of
the
middle
ages
.
He
liked
history
,
but
he
loved
to
meditate
on
a
land
laid
waste
,
Britain
deserted
by
the
legions
,
the
rare
pavements
riven
by
frost
,
Celtic
magic
still
brooding
on
the
wild
hills
and
in
the
black
depths
of
the
forest
,
the
rosy
marbles
stained
with
rain
,
and
the
walls
growing
grey
.
The
masters
did
not
encourage
these
researches
;
a
pure
enthusiasm
,
they
felt
,
should
be
for
cricket
and
football
,
the
dilettanti
might
even
play
fives
and
read
Shakespeare
without
blame
,
but
healthy
English
boys
should
have
nothing
to
do
with
decadent
periods
.
He
was
once
found
guilty
of
recommending
Villon
to
a
school-fellow
named
Barnes
.
Barnes
tried
to
extract
unpleasantness
from
the
text
during
preparation
,
and
rioted
in
his
place
,
owing
to
his
incapacity
for
the
language
.
The
matter
was
a
serious
one
;
the
headmaster
had
never
heard
of
Villon
,
and
the
culprit
gave
up
the
name
of
his
literary
admirer
without
remorse
.
Hence
,
sorrow
for
Lucian
,
and
complete
immunity
for
the
miserable
illiterate
Barnes
,
who
resolved
to
confine
his
researches
to
the
Old
Testament
,
a
book
which
the
headmaster
knew
well
.
As
for
Lucian
,
he
plodded
on
,
learning
his
work
decently
,
and
sometimes
doing
very
creditable
Latin
and
Greek
prose
.
His
school-fellows
thought
him
quite
mad
,
and
tolerated
him
,
and
indeed
were
very
kind
to
him
in
their
barbarous
manner
.
He
often
remembered
in
after
life
acts
of
generosity
and
good
nature
done
by
wretches
like
Barnes
,
who
had
no
care
for
old
French
nor
for
curious
meters
,
and
such
recollections
always
moved
him
to
emotion
.
Travelers
tell
such
tales
;
cast
upon
cruel
shores
amongst
savage
races
,
they
have
found
no
little
kindness
and
warmth
of
hospitality
.
He
looked
forward
to
the
holidays
as
joyfully
as
the
rest
of
them
.
Barnes
and
his
friend
Duscot
used
to
tell
him
their
plans
and
anticipation
;
they
were
going
home
to
brothers
and
sisters
,
and
to
cricket
,
more
cricket
,
or
to
football
,
more
football
,
and
in
the
winter
there
were
parties
and
jollities
of
all
sorts
.
In
return
he
would
announce
his
intention
of
studying
the
Hebrew
language
,
or
perhaps
Provençal
,
with
a
walk
up
a
bare
and
desolate
mountain
by
way
of
open-air
amusement
,
and
on
a
rainy
day
for
choice
.
Whereupon
Barnes
would
impart
to
Duscot
his
confident
belief
that
old
Taylor
was
quite
cracked
.
It
was
a
queer
,
funny
life
that
of
school
,
and
so
very
unlike
anything
in
Tom
Brown
.
He
once
saw
the
headmaster
patting
the
head
of
the
bishop
's
little
boy
,
while
he
called
him
"
my
little
man
,
"
and
smiled
hideously
.
He
told
the
tale
grotesquely
in
the
lower
fifth
room
the
same
day
,
and
earned
much
applause
,
but
forfeited
all
liking
directly
by
proposing
a
voluntary
course
of
scholastic
logic
.
One
barbarian
threw
him
to
the
ground
and
another
jumped
on
him
,
but
it
was
done
very
pleasantly
.
There
were
,
indeed
,
some
few
of
a
worse
class
in
the
school
,
solemn
sycophants
,
prigs
perfected
from
tender
years
,
who
thought
life
already
"
serious
,
"
and
yet
,
as
the
headmaster
said
,
were
"
joyous
,
manly
young
fellows
.
"
Some
of
these
dressed
for
dinner
at
home
,
and
talked
of
dances
when
they
came
back
in
January
.
But
this
virulent
sort
was
comparatively
infrequent
,
and
achieved
great
success
in
after
life
.
Taking
his
school
days
as
a
whole
,
he
always
spoke
up
for
the
system
,
and
years
afterward
he
described
with
enthusiasm
the
strong
beer
at
a
roadside
tavern
,
some
way
out
of
the
town
.
But
he
always
maintained
that
the
taste
for
tobacco
,
acquired
in
early
life
,
was
the
great
life
,
was
the
great
note
of
the
English
Public
School
.
Three
years
after
Lucian
's
discovery
of
the
narrow
lane
and
the
vision
of
the
flaming
fort
,
the
August
holidays
brought
him
home
at
a
time
of
great
heat
.
It
was
one
of
those
memorable
years
of
English
weather
,
when
some
Provençal
spell
seems
wreathed
round
the
island
in
the
northern
sea
,
and
the
grasshoppers
chirp
loudly
as
the
cicadas
,
the
hills
smell
of
rosemary
,
and
white
walls
of
the
old
farmhouses
blaze
in
the
sunlight
as
if
they
stood
in
Arles
or
Avignon
or
famed
Tarascon
by
Rhone
.
Lucian
's
father
was
late
at
the
station
,
and
consequently
Lucian
bought
the
Confessions
of
an
English
Opium
Eater
which
he
saw
on
the
bookstall
.
When
his
father
did
drive
up
,
Lucian
noticed
that
the
old
trap
had
had
a
new
coat
of
dark
paint
,
and
that
the
pony
looked
advanced
in
years
.
"
I
was
afraid
that
I
should
be
late
,
Lucian
,
"
said
his
father
,
"
though
I
made
old
Polly
go
like
anything
.
I
was
just
going
to
tell
George
to
put
her
into
the
trap
when
young
Philip
Harris
came
to
me
in
a
terrible
state
.
He
said
his
father
fell
down
'
all
of
a
sudden
like
'
in
the
middle
of
the
field
,
and
they
could
n't
make
him
speak
,
and
would
I
please
to
come
and
see
him
.
So
I
had
to
go
,
though
I
could
n't
do
anything
for
the
poor
fellow
.
They
had
sent
for
Dr.
Burrows
,
and
I
am
afraid
he
will
find
it
a
bad
case
of
sunstroke
.
The
old
people
say
they
never
remember
such
a
heat
before
.
"
The
pony
jogged
steadily
along
the
burning
turnpike
road
,
taking
revenge
for
the
hurrying
on
the
way
to
the
station
.
The
hedges
were
white
with
the
limestone
dust
,
and
the
vapor
of
heat
palpitated
over
the
fields
.
Lucian
showed
his
Confessions
to
his
father
,
and
began
to
talk
of
the
beautiful
bits
he
had
already
found
.
Mr.
Taylor
knew
the
book
wellâ
€
”
had
read
it
many
years
before
.
Indeed
he
was
almost
as
difficult
to
surprise
as
that
character
in
Daudet
,
who
had
one
formula
for
all
the
chances
of
life
,
and
when
he
saw
the
drowned
Academician
dragged
out
of
the
river
,
merely
observed
"
J'ai
vu
tout
ça
.
"
Mr.
Taylor
the
parson
,
as
his
parishioners
called
him
,
had
read
the
fine
books
and
loved
the
hills
and
woods
,
and
now
knew
no
more
of
pleasant
or
sensational
surprises
.
Indeed
the
living
was
much
depreciated
in
value
,
and
his
own
private
means
were
reduced
almost
to
vanishing
point
,
and
under
such
circumstances
the
great
style
loses
many
of
its
finer
savors
.
He
was
very
fond
of
Lucian
,
and
cheered
by
his
return
,
but
in
the
evening
he
would
be
a
sad
man
again
,
with
his
head
resting
on
one
hand
,
and
eyes
reproaching
sorry
fortune
.
Nobody
called
out
"
Here
's
your
master
with
Master
Lucian
;
you
can
get
tea
ready
,
"
when
the
pony
jogged
up
to
the
front
door
.
His
mother
had
been
dead
a
year
,
and
a
cousin
kept
house
.
She
was
a
respectable
person
called
Deacon
,
of
middle
age
,
and
ordinary
standards
;
and
,
consequently
,
there
was
cold
mutton
on
the
table
.
There
was
a
cake
,
but
nothing
of
flour
,
baked
in
ovens
,
would
rise
at
Miss
Deacon
's
evocation
.
Still
,
the
meal
was
laid
in
the
beloved
"
parlor
,
"
with
the
view
of
hills
and
valleys
and
climbing
woods
from
the
open
window
,
and
the
old
furniture
was
still
pleasant
to
see
,
and
the
old
books
in
the
shelves
had
many
memories
.
One
of
the
most
respected
of
the
armchairs
had
become
weak
in
the
castors
and
had
to
be
artfully
propped
up
,
but
Lucian
found
it
very
comfortable
after
the
hard
forms
.
When
tea
was
over
he
went
out
and
strolled
in
the
garden
and
orchards
,
and
looked
over
the
stile
down
into
the
brake
,
where
foxgloves
and
bracken
and
broom
mingled
with
the
hazel
undergrowth
,
where
he
knew
of
secret
glades
and
untracked
recesses
,
deep
in
the
woven
green
,
the
cabinets
for
many
years
of
his
lonely
meditations
.
Every
path
about
his
home
,
every
field
and
hedgerow
had
dear
and
friendly
memories
for
him
;
and
the
odor
of
the
meadowsweet
was
better
than
the
incense
steaming
in
the
sunshine
.
He
loitered
,
and
hung
over
the
stile
till
the
far-off
woods
began
to
turn
purple
,
till
the
white
mists
were
wreathing
in
the
valley
.
Day
after
day
,
through
all
that
August
,
morning
and
evening
were
wrapped
in
haze
;
day
after
day
the
earth
shimmered
in
the
heat
,
and
the
air
was
strange
,
unfamiliar
.
As
he
wandered
in
the
lanes
and
sauntered
by
the
cool
sweet
verge
of
the
woods
,
he
saw
and
felt
that
nothing
was
common
or
accustomed
,
for
the
sunlight
transfigured
the
meadows
and
changed
all
the
form
of
the
earth
.
Under
the
violent
Provençal
sun
,
the
elms
and
beeches
looked
exotic
trees
,
and
in
the
early
morning
,
when
the
mists
were
thick
,
the
hills
had
put
on
an
unearthly
shape
.
The
one
adventure
of
the
holidays
was
the
visit
to
the
Roman
fort
,
to
that
fantastic
hill
about
whose
steep
bastions
and
haggard
oaks
he
had
seen
the
flames
of
sunset
writhing
nearly
three
years
before
.
Ever
since
that
Saturday
evening
in
January
,
the
lonely
valley
had
been
a
desirable
place
to
him
;
he
had
watched
the
green
battlements
in
summer
and
winter
weather
,
had
seen
the
heaped
mounds
rising
dimly
amidst
the
drifting
rain
,
had
marked
the
violent
height
swim
up
from
the
ice-white
mists
of
summer
evenings
,
had
watched
the
fairy
bulwarks
glimmer
and
vanish
in
hovering
April
twilight
.
In
the
hedge
of
the
lane
there
was
a
gate
on
which
he
used
to
lean
and
look
down
south
to
where
the
hill
surged
up
so
suddenly
,
its
summit
defined
on
summer
evenings
not
only
by
the
rounded
ramparts
but
by
the
ring
of
dense
green
foliage
that
marked
the
circle
of
oak
trees
.
Higher
up
the
lane
,
on
the
way
he
had
come
that
Saturday
afternoon
,
one
could
see
the
white
walls
of
Morgan
's
farm
on
the
hillside
to
the
north
,
and
on
the
south
there
was
the
stile
with
the
view
of
old
Mrs.
Gibbon
's
cottage
smoke
;
but
down
in
the
hollow
,
looking
over
the
gate
,
there
was
no
hint
of
human
work
,
except
those
green
and
antique
battlements
,
on
which
the
oaks
stood
in
circle
,
guarding
the
inner
wood
.
The
ring
of
the
fort
drew
him
with
stronger
fascination
during
that
hot
August
weather
.
Standing
,
or
as
his
headmaster
would
have
said
,
"
mooning
"
by
the
gate
,
and
looking
into
that
enclosed
and
secret
valley
,
it
seemed
to
his
fancy
as
if
there
were
a
halo
about
the
hill
,
an
aureole
that
played
like
flame
around
it
.
One
afternoon
as
he
gazed
from
his
station
by
the
gate
the
sheer
sides
and
the
swelling
bulwarks
were
more
than
ever
things
of
enchantment
;
the
green
oak
ring
stood
out
against
the
sky
as
still
and
bright
as
in
a
picture
,
and
Lucian
,
in
spite
of
his
respect
for
the
law
of
trespass
,
slid
over
the
gate
.
The
farmers
and
their
men
were
busy
on
the
uplands
with
the
harvest
,
and
the
adventure
was
irresistible
.
At
first
he
stole
along
by
the
brook
in
the
shadow
of
the
alders
,
where
the
grass
and
the
flowers
of
wet
meadows
grew
richly
;
but
as
he
drew
nearer
to
the
fort
,
and
its
height
now
rose
sheer
above
him
,
he
left
all
shelter
,
and
began
desperately
to
mount
.
There
was
not
a
breath
of
wind
;
the
sunlight
shone
down
on
the
bare
hillside
;
the
loud
chirp
of
the
grasshoppers
was
the
only
sound
.
It
was
a
steep
ascent
and
grew
steeper
as
the
valley
sank
away
.
He
turned
for
a
moment
,
and
looked
down
towards
the
stream
which
now
seemed
to
wind
remote
between
the
alders
;
above
the
valley
there
were
small
dark
figures
moving
in
the
cornfield
,
and
now
and
again
there
came
the
faint
echo
of
a
high-pitched
voice
singing
through
the
air
as
on
a
wire
.
He
was
wet
with
heat
;
the
sweat
streamed
off
his
face
,
and
he
could
feel
it
trickling
all
over
his
body
.
But
above
him
the
green
bastions
rose
defiant
,
and
the
dark
ring
of
oaks
promised
coolness
.
He
pressed
on
,
and
higher
,
and
at
last
began
to
crawl
up
the
vallum
,
on
hands
and
knees
,
grasping
the
turf
and
here
and
there
the
roots
that
had
burst
through
the
red
earth
.
And
then
he
lay
,
panting
with
deep
breaths
,
on
the
summit
.
Within
the
fort
it
was
all
dusky
and
cool
and
hollow
;
it
was
as
if
one
stood
at
the
bottom
of
a
great
cup
.
Within
,
the
wall
seemed
higher
than
without
,
and
the
ring
of
oaks
curved
up
like
a
dark
green
vault
.
There
were
nettles
growing
thick
and
rank
in
the
foss
;
they
looked
different
from
the
common
nettles
in
the
lanes
,
and
Lucian
,
letting
his
hand
touch
a
leaf
by
accident
,
felt
the
sting
burn
like
fire
.
Beyond
the
ditch
there
was
an
undergrowth
,
a
dense
thicket
of
trees
,
stunted
and
old
,
crooked
and
withered
by
the
winds
into
awkward
and
ugly
forms
;
beech
and
oak
and
hazel
and
ash
and
yew
twisted
and
so
shortened
and
deformed
that
each
seemed
,
like
the
nettle
,
of
no
common
kind
.
He
began
to
fight
his
way
through
the
ugly
growth
,
stumbling
and
getting
hard
knocks
from
the
rebound
of
twisted
boughs
.
His
foot
struck
once
or
twice
against
something
harder
than
wood
,
and
looking
down
he
saw
stones
white
with
the
leprosy
of
age
,
but
still
showing
the
work
of
the
axe
.
And
farther
,
the
roots
of
the
stunted
trees
gripped
the
foot-high
relics
of
a
wall
;
and
a
round
heap
of
fallen
stones
nourished
rank
,
unknown
herbs
,
that
smelt
poisonous
.
The
earth
was
black
and
unctuous
,
and
bubbling
under
the
feet
,
left
no
track
behind
.
From
it
,
in
the
darkest
places
where
the
shadow
was
thickest
,
swelled
the
growth
of
an
abominable
fungus
,
making
the
still
air
sick
with
its
corrupt
odor
,
and
he
shuddered
as
he
felt
the
horrible
thing
pulped
beneath
his
feet
.
Then
there
was
a
gleam
of
sunlight
,
and
as
he
thrust
the
last
boughs
apart
,
he
stumbled
into
the
open
space
in
the
heart
of
the
camp
.
It
was
a
lawn
of
sweet
close
turf
in
the
center
of
the
matted
brake
,
of
clean
firm
earth
from
which
no
shameful
growth
sprouted
,
and
near
the
middle
of
the
glade
was
a
stump
of
a
felled
yew-tree
,
left
untrimmed
by
the
woodman
.
Lucian
thought
it
must
have
been
made
for
a
seat
;
a
crooked
bough
through
which
a
little
sap
still
ran
was
a
support
for
the
back
,
and
he
sat
down
and
rested
after
his
toil
.
It
was
not
really
so
comfortable
a
seat
as
one
of
the
school
forms
,
but
the
satisfaction
was
to
find
anything
at
all
that
would
serve
for
a
chair
.
He
sat
there
,
still
panting
after
the
climb
and
his
struggle
through
the
dank
and
jungle-like
thicket
,
and
he
felt
as
if
he
were
growing
hotter
and
hotter
;
the
sting
of
the
nettle
was
burning
his
hand
,
and
the
tingling
fire
seemed
to
spread
all
over
his
body
.
Suddenly
,
he
knew
that
he
was
alone
.
Not
merely
solitary
;
that
he
had
often
been
amongst
the
woods
and
deep
in
the
lanes
;
but
now
it
was
a
wholly
different
and
a
very
strange
sensation
.
He
thought
of
the
valley
winding
far
below
him
,
all
its
fields
by
the
brook
green
and
peaceful
and
still
,
without
path
or
track
.
Then
he
had
climbed
the
abrupt
surge
of
the
hill
,
and
passing
the
green
and
swelling
battlements
,
the
ring
of
oaks
,
and
the
matted
thicket
,
had
come
to
the
central
space
.
And
behind
there
were
,
he
knew
,
many
desolate
fields
,
wild
as
common
,
untrodden
,
unvisited
.
He
was
utterly
alone
.
He
still
grew
hotter
as
he
sat
on
the
stump
,
and
at
last
lay
down
at
full
length
on
the
soft
grass
,
and
more
at
his
ease
felt
the
waves
of
heat
pass
over
his
body
.
And
then
he
began
to
dream
,
to
let
his
fancies
stray
over
half-imagined
,
delicious
things
,
indulging
a
virgin
mind
in
its
wanderings
.
The
hot
air
seemed
to
beat
upon
him
in
palpable
waves
,
and
the
nettle
sting
tingled
and
itched
intolerably
;
and
he
was
alone
upon
the
fairy
hill
,
within
the
great
mounds
,
within
the
ring
of
oaks
,
deep
in
the
heart
of
the
matted
thicket
.
Slowly
and
timidly
he
began
to
untie
his
boots
,
fumbling
with
the
laces
,
and
glancing
all
the
while
on
every
side
at
the
ugly
misshapen
trees
that
hedged
the
lawn
.
Not
a
branch
was
straight
,
not
one
was
free
,
but
all
were
interlaced
and
grew
one
about
another
;
and
just
above
ground
,
where
the
cankered
stems
joined
the
protuberant
roots
,
there
were
forms
that
imitated
the
human
shape
,
and
faces
and
twining
limbs
that
amazed
him
.
Green
mosses
were
hair
,
and
tresses
were
stark
in
grey
lichen
;
a
twisted
root
swelled
into
a
limb
;
in
the
hollows
of
the
rotted
bark
he
saw
the
masks
of
men
.
His
eyes
were
fixed
and
fascinated
by
the
simulacra
of
the
wood
,
and
could
not
see
his
hands
,
and
so
at
last
,
and
suddenly
,
it
seemed
,
he
lay
in
the
sunlight
,
beautiful
with
his
olive
skin
,
dark
haired
,
dark
eyed
,
the
gleaming
bodily
vision
of
a
strayed
faun
.
Quick
flames
now
quivered
in
the
substance
of
his
nerves
,
hints
of
mysteries
,
secrets
of
life
passed
trembling
through
his
brain
,
unknown
desires
stung
him
.
As
he
gazed
across
the
turf
and
into
the
thicket
,
the
sunshine
seemed
really
to
become
green
,
and
the
contrast
between
the
bright
glow
poured
on
the
lawn
and
the
black
shadow
of
the
brake
made
an
odd
flickering
light
,
in
which
all
the
grotesque
postures
of
stem
and
root
began
to
stir
;
the
wood
was
alive
.
The
turf
beneath
him
heaved
and
sank
as
with
the
deep
swell
of
the
sea
.
He
fell
asleep
,
and
lay
still
on
the
grass
,
in
the
midst
of
the
thicket
.
He
found
out
afterwards
that
he
must
have
slept
for
nearly
an
hour
.
The
shadows
had
changed
when
he
awoke
;
his
senses
came
to
him
with
a
sudden
shock
,
and
he
sat
up
and
stared
at
his
bare
limbs
in
stupid
amazement
.
He
huddled
on
his
clothes
and
laced
his
boots
,
wondering
what
folly
had
beset
him
.
Then
,
while
he
stood
indecisive
,
hesitating
,
his
brain
a
whirl
of
puzzled
thought
,
his
body
trembling
,
his
hands
shaking
;
as
with
electric
heat
,
sudden
remembrance
possessed
him
.
A
flaming
blush
shone
red
on
his
cheeks
,
and
glowed
and
thrilled
through
his
limbs
.
As
he
awoke
,
a
brief
and
slight
breeze
had
stirred
in
a
nook
of
the
matted
boughs
,
and
there
was
a
glinting
that
might
have
been
the
flash
of
sudden
sunlight
across
shadow
,
and
the
branches
rustled
and
murmured
for
a
moment
,
perhaps
at
the
wind
's
passage
.
He
stretched
out
his
hands
,
and
cried
to
his
visitant
to
return
;
he
entreated
the
dark
eyes
that
had
shone
over
him
,
and
the
scarlet
lips
that
had
kissed
him
.
And
then
panic
fear
rushed
into
his
heart
,
and
he
ran
blindly
,
dashing
through
the
wood
.
He
climbed
the
vallum
,
and
looked
out
,
crouching
,
lest
anybody
should
see
him
.
Only
the
shadows
were
changed
,
and
a
breath
of
cooler
air
mounted
from
the
brook
;
the
fields
were
still
and
peaceful
,
the
black
figures
moved
,
far
away
,
amidst
the
corn
,
and
the
faint
echo
of
the
high-pitched
voices
sang
thin
and
distant
on
the
evening
wind
.
Across
the
stream
,
in
the
cleft
on
the
hill
,
opposite
to
the
fort
,
the
blue
wood
smoke
stole
up
a
spiral
pillar
from
the
chimney
of
old
Mrs.
Gibbon
's
cottage
.
He
began
to
run
full
tilt
down
the
steep
surge
of
the
hill
,
and
never
stopped
till
he
was
over
the
gate
and
in
the
lane
again
.
As
he
looked
back
,
down
the
valley
to
the
south
,
and
saw
the
violent
ascent
,
the
green
swelling
bulwarks
,
and
the
dark
ring
of
oaks
;
the
sunlight
seemed
to
play
about
the
fort
with
an
aureole
of
flame
.
"
Where
on
earth
have
you
been
all
this
time
,
Lucian
?
"
said
his
cousin
when
he
got
home
.
"
Why
,
you
look
quite
ill.
It
is
really
madness
of
you
to
go
walking
in
such
weather
as
this
.
I
wonder
you
have
n't
got
a
sunstroke
.
And
the
tea
must
be
nearly
cold
.
I
could
n't
keep
your
father
waiting
,
you
know
.
"
He
muttered
something
about
being
rather
tired
,
and
sat
down
to
his
tea
.
It
was
not
cold
,
for
the
"
cozy
"
had
been
put
over
the
pot
,
but
it
was
black
and
bitter
strong
,
as
his
cousin
expressed
it
.
The
draught
was
unpalatable
,
but
it
did
him
good
,
and
the
thought
came
with
great
consolation
that
he
had
only
been
asleep
and
dreaming
queer
,
nightmarish
dreams
.
He
shook
off
all
his
fancies
with
resolution
,
and
thought
the
loneliness
of
the
camp
,
and
the
burning
sunlight
,
and
possibly
the
nettle
sting
,
which
still
tingled
most
abominably
,
must
have
been
the
only
factors
in
his
farrago
of
impossible
recollections
.
He
remembered
that
when
he
had
felt
the
sting
,
he
had
seized
a
nettle
with
thick
folds
of
his
handkerchief
,
and
having
twisted
off
a
good
length
,
and
put
it
in
his
pocket
to
show
his
father
.
Mr.
Taylor
was
almost
interested
when
he
came
in
from
his
evening
stroll
about
the
garden
and
saw
the
specimen
.
"
Where
did
you
manage
to
come
across
that
,
Lucian
?
"
he
said
.
"
You
have
n't
been
to
Caermaen
,
have
you
?
"
"
No.
I
got
it
in
the
Roman
fort
by
the
common
.
"
"
Oh
,
the
twyn
.
You
must
have
been
trespassing
then
.
Do
you
know
what
it
is
?
"
"
No.
I
thought
it
looked
different
from
the
common
nettles
.
"
"
Yes
;
it
's
a
Roman
nettleâ
€
”
arctic
pilulifera
.
It
's
a
rare
plant
.
Burrows
says
it
's
to
be
found
at
Caermaen
,
but
I
was
never
able
to
come
across
it
.
I
must
add
it
to
the
flora
of
the
parish
.
"
Mr.
Taylor
had
begun
to
compile
a
flora
accompanied
by
a
hortus
siccus
,
but
both
stayed
on
high
shelves
dusty
and
fragmentary
.
He
put
the
specimen
on
his
desk
,
intending
to
fasten
it
in
the
book
,
but
the
maid
swept
it
away
,
dry
and
withered
,
in
a
day
or
two
.
Lucian
tossed
and
cried
out
in
his
sleep
that
night
,
and
the
awakening
in
the
morning
was
,
in
a
measure
,
a
renewal
of
the
awakening
in
the
fort
.
But
the
impression
was
not
so
strong
,
and
in
a
plain
room
it
seemed
all
delirium
,
a
phantasmagoria
.
He
had
to
go
down
to
Caermaen
in
the
afternoon
,
for
Mrs.
Dixon
,
the
vicar
's
wife
,
had
"
commanded
"
his
presence
at
tea
.
Mr.
Dixon
,
though
fat
and
short
and
clean
shaven
,
ruddy
of
face
,
was
a
safe
man
,
with
no
extreme
views
on
anything
.
He
"
deplored
"
all
extreme
party
convictions
,
and
thought
the
great
needs
of
our
beloved
Church
were
conciliation
,
moderation
,
and
above
all
"
amolgamation
"
â
€
”
so
he
pronounced
the
word
.
Mrs.
Dixon
was
tall
,
imposing
,
splendid
,
well
fitted
for
the
Episcopal
order
,
with
gifts
that
would
have
shone
at
the
palace
.
There
were
daughters
,
who
studied
German
Literature
,
and
thought
Miss
Frances
Ridley
Havergal
wrote
poetry
,
but
Lucian
had
no
fear
of
them
;
he
dreaded
the
boys
.
Everybody
said
they
were
such
fine
,
manly
fellows
,
such
gentlemanly
boys
,
with
such
a
good
manner
,
sure
to
get
on
in
the
world
.
Lucian
had
said
"
Bother
!
"
in
a
very
violent
manner
when
the
gracious
invitation
was
conveyed
to
him
,
but
there
was
no
getting
out
of
it
.
Miss
Deacon
did
her
best
to
make
him
look
smart
;
his
ties
were
all
so
disgraceful
that
she
had
to
supply
the
want
with
a
narrow
ribbon
of
a
sky-blue
tint
;
and
she
brushed
him
so
long
and
so
violently
that
he
quite
understood
why
a
horse
sometimes
bites
and
sometimes
kicks
the
groom
.
He
set
out
between
two
and
three
in
a
gloomy
frame
of
mind
;
he
knew
too
well
what
spending
the
afternoon
with
honest
manly
boys
meant
.
He
found
the
reality
more
lurid
than
his
anticipation
.
The
boys
were
in
the
field
,
and
the
first
remark
he
heard
when
he
got
in
sight
of
the
group
was
:
"
Hullo
,
Lucian
,
how
much
for
the
tie
?
"
"
Fine
tie
,
"
another
,
a
stranger
,
observed
.
"
You
bagged
it
from
the
kitten
,
did
n't
you
?
"
Then
they
made
up
a
game
of
cricket
,
and
he
was
put
in
first
.
He
was
l.b.w.
in
his
second
over
,
so
they
all
said
,
and
had
to
field
for
the
rest
of
the
afternoon
.
Arthur
Dixon
,
who
was
about
his
own
age
,
forgetting
all
the
laws
of
hospitality
,
told
him
he
was
a
beastly
muff
when
he
missed
a
catch
,
rather
a
difficult
catch
.
He
missed
several
catches
,
and
it
seemed
as
if
he
were
always
panting
after
balls
,
which
,
as
Edward
Dixon
said
,
any
fool
,
even
a
baby
,
could
have
stopped
.
At
last
the
game
broke
up
,
solely
from
Lucian
's
lack
of
skill
,
as
everybody
declared
.
Edward
Dixon
,
who
was
thirteen
,
and
had
a
swollen
red
face
and
a
projecting
eye
,
wanted
to
fight
him
for
spoiling
the
game
,
and
the
others
agreed
that
he
funked
the
fight
in
a
rather
dirty
manner
.
The
strange
boy
,
who
was
called
De
Carti
,
and
was
understood
to
be
faintly
related
to
Lord
De
Carti
of
M'Carthytown
,
said
openly
that
the
fellows
at
his
place
would
n't
stand
such
a
sneak
for
five
minutes
.
So
the
afternoon
passed
off
very
pleasantly
indeed
,
till
it
was
time
to
go
into
the
vicarage
for
weak
tea
,
homemade
cake
,
and
unripe
plums
.
He
got
away
at
last
.
As
he
went
out
at
the
gate
,
he
heard
De
Carti
's
final
observation
:
"
We
like
to
dress
well
at
our
place
.
His
governor
must
be
beastly
poor
to
let
him
go
about
like
that
.
D'y
'
see
his
trousers
are
all
ragged
at
heel
?
Is
old
Taylor
a
gentleman
?
"
It
had
been
a
very
gentlemanly
afternoon
,
but
there
was
a
certain
relief
when
the
vicarage
was
far
behind
,
and
the
evening
smoke
of
the
little
town
,
once
the
glorious
capital
of
Siluria
,
hung
haze-like
over
the
ragged
roofs
and
mingled
with
the
river
mist
.
He
looked
down
from
the
height
of
the
road
on
the
huddled
houses
,
saw
the
points
of
light
start
out
suddenly
from
the
cottages
on
the
hillside
beyond
,
and
gazed
at
the
long
lovely
valley
fading
in
the
twilight
,
till
the
darkness
came
and
all
that
remained
was
the
somber
ridge
of
the
forest
.
The
way
was
pleasant
through
the
solemn
scented
lane
,
with
glimpses
of
dim
country
,
the
vague
mystery
of
night
overshadowing
the
woods
and
meadows
.
A
warm
wind
blew
gusts
of
odor
from
the
meadowsweet
by
the
brook
,
now
and
then
bee
and
beetle
span
homeward
through
the
air
,
booming
a
deep
note
as
from
a
great
organ
far
away
,
and
from
the
verge
of
the
wood
came
the
"
who-oo
,
who-oo
,
who-oo
"
of
the
owls
,
a
wild
strange
sound
that
mingled
with
the
whirr
and
rattle
of
the
night-jar
,
deep
in
the
bracken
.
The
moon
swam
up
through
the
films
of
misty
cloud
,
and
hung
,
a
golden
glorious
lantern
,
in
mid-air
;
and
,
set
in
the
dusky
hedge
,
the
little
green
fires
of
the
glowworms
appeared
.
He
sauntered
slowly
up
the
lane
,
drinking
in
the
religion
of
the
scene
,
and
thinking
the
country
by
night
as
mystic
and
wonderful
as
a
dimly-lit
cathedral
.
He
had
quite
forgotten
the
"
manly
young
fellows
"
and
their
sports
,
and
only
wished
as
the
land
began
to
shimmer
and
gleam
in
the
moonlight
that
he
knew
by
some
medium
of
words
or
color
how
to
represent
the
loveliness
about
his
way
.
"
Had
a
pleasant
evening
,
Lucian
?
"
said
his
father
when
he
came
in
.
"
Yes
,
I
had
a
nice
walk
home
.
Oh
,
in
the
afternoon
we
played
cricket
.
I
did
n't
care
for
it
much
.
There
was
a
boy
named
De
Carti
there
;
he
is
staying
with
the
Dixons
.
Mrs.
Dixon
whispered
to
me
when
we
were
going
in
to
tea
,
'
He
's
a
second
cousin
of
Lord
De
Carti
's
,
'
and
she
looked
quite
grave
as
if
she
were
in
church
.
"
The
parson
grinned
grimly
and
lit
his
old
pipe
.
"
Baron
De
Carti
's
great-grandfather
was
a
Dublin
attorney
,
"
he
remarked
.
"
Which
his
name
was
Jeremiah
M'Carthy
.
His
prejudiced
fellow-citizens
called
him
the
Unjust
Steward
,
also
the
Bloody
Attorney
,
and
I
believe
that
'
to
hell
with
M'Carthy
'
was
quite
a
popular
cry
about
the
time
of
the
Union
.
"
Mr.
Taylor
was
a
man
of
very
wide
and
irregular
reading
and
a
tenacious
memory
;
he
often
used
to
wonder
why
he
had
not
risen
in
the
Church
.
He
had
once
told
Mr.
Dixon
a
singular
and
drolatique
anecdote
concerning
the
bishop
's
college
days
,
and
he
never
discovered
why
the
prelate
did
not
bow
according
to
his
custom
when
the
name
of
Taylor
was
called
at
the
next
visitation
.
Some
people
said
the
reason
was
lighted
candles
,
but
that
was
impossible
,
as
the
Reverend
and
Honorable
Smallwood
Stafford
,
Lord
Beamys
's
son
,
who
had
a
cure
of
souls
in
the
cathedral
city
,
was
well
known
to
burn
no
end
of
candles
,
and
with
him
the
bishop
was
on
the
best
of
terms
.
Indeed
the
bishop
often
stayed
at
Coplesey
(
pronounced
"
Copsey
"
)
Hall
,
Lord
Beamys
's
place
in
the
west
.
Lucian
had
mentioned
the
name
of
De
Carti
with
intention
,
and
had
perhaps
exaggerated
a
little
Mrs.
Dixon
's
respectful
manner
.
He
knew
such
incidents
cheered
his
father
,
who
could
never
look
at
these
subjects
from
a
proper
point
of
view
,
and
,
as
people
said
,
sometimes
made
the
strangest
remarks
for
a
clergyman
.
This
irreverent
way
of
treating
serious
things
was
one
of
the
great
bonds
between
father
and
son
,
but
it
tended
to
increase
their
isolation
.
People
said
they
would
often
have
liked
to
asked
Mr.
Taylor
to
garden-parties
,
and
tea-parties
,
and
other
cheap
entertainments
,
if
only
he
had
not
been
such
an
extreme
man
and
so
queer
.
Indeed
,
a
year
before
,
Mr.
Taylor
had
gone
to
a
garden-party
at
the
Castle
,
Caermaen
,
and
had
made
such
fun
of
the
bishop
's
recent
address
on
missions
to
the
Portuguese
,
that
the
Gervases
and
Dixons
and
all
who
heard
him
were
quite
shocked
and
annoyed
.
And
,
as
Mrs.
Meyrick
of
Lanyravon
observed
,
his
black
coat
was
perfectly
green
with
age
;
so
on
the
whole
the
Gervases
did
not
like
to
invite
Mr.
Taylor
again
.
As
for
the
son
,
nobody
cared
to
have
him
;
Mrs.
Dixon
,
as
she
said
to
her
husband
,
really
asked
him
out
of
charity
.
"
I
am
afraid
he
seldom
gets
a
real
meal
at
home
,
"
she
remarked
,
"
so
I
thought
he
would
enjoy
a
good
wholesome
tea
for
once
in
a
way
.
But
he
is
such
an
unsatisfactory
boy
,
he
would
only
have
one
slice
of
that
nice
plain
cake
,
and
I
could
n't
get
him
to
take
more
than
two
plums
.
They
were
really
quite
ripe
too
,
and
boys
are
usually
so
fond
of
fruit
.
"
Thus
Lucian
was
forced
to
spend
his
holidays
chiefly
in
his
own
company
,
and
make
the
best
he
could
of
the
ripe
peaches
on
the
south
wall
of
the
rectory
garden
.
There
was
a
certain
corner
where
the
heat
of
that
hot
August
seemed
concentrated
,
reverberated
from
one
wall
to
the
other
,
and
here
he
liked
to
linger
of
mornings
,
when
the
mists
were
still
thick
in
the
valleys
,
"
mooning
,
"
meditating
,
extending
his
walk
from
the
quince
to
the
medlar
and
back
again
,
beside
the
moldering
walls
of
mellowed
brick
.
He
was
full
of
a
certain
wonder
and
awe
,
not
unmixed
with
a
swell
of
strange
exultation
,
and
wished
more
and
more
to
be
alone
,
to
think
over
that
wonderful
afternoon
within
the
fort
.
In
spite
of
himself
the
impression
was
fading
;
he
could
not
understand
that
feeling
of
mad
panic
terror
that
drove
him
through
the
thicket
and
down
the
steep
hillside
;
yet
,
he
had
experienced
so
clearly
the
physical
shame
and
reluctance
of
the
flesh
;
he
recollected
that
for
a
few
seconds
after
his
awakening
the
sight
of
his
own
body
had
made
him
shudder
and
writhe
as
if
it
had
suffered
some
profoundest
degradation
.
He
saw
before
him
a
vision
of
two
forms
;
a
faun
with
tingling
and
prickling
flesh
lay
expectant
in
the
sunlight
,
and
there
was
also
the
likeness
of
a
miserable
shamed
boy
,
standing
with
trembling
body
and
shaking
,
unsteady
hands
.
It
was
all
confused
,
a
procession
of
blurred
images
,
now
of
rapture
and
ecstasy
,
and
now
of
terror
and
shame
,
floating
in
a
light
that
was
altogether
phantasmal
and
unreal
.
He
dared
not
approach
the
fort
again
;
he
lingered
in
the
road
to
Caermaen
that
passed
behind
it
,
but
a
mile
away
,
and
separated
by
the
wild
land
and
a
strip
of
wood
from
the
towering
battlements
.
Here
he
was
looking
over
a
gate
one
day
,
doubtful
and
wondering
,
when
he
heard
a
heavy
step
behind
him
,
and
glancing
round
quickly
saw
it
was
old
Morgan
of
the
White
House
.
"
Good
afternoon
,
Master
Lucian
,
"
he
began
.
"
Mr.
Taylor
pretty
well
,
I
suppose
?
I
be
goin
'
to
the
house
a
minute
;
the
men
in
the
fields
are
wantin
'
some
more
cider
.
Would
you
come
and
taste
a
drop
of
cider
,
Master
Lucian
?
It
's
very
good
,
sir
,
indeed
.
"
Lucian
did
not
want
any
cider
,
but
he
thought
it
would
please
old
Morgan
if
he
took
some
,
so
he
said
he
should
like
to
taste
the
cider
very
much
indeed
.
Morgan
was
a
sturdy
,
thick-set
old
man
of
the
ancient
stock
;
a
stiff
churchman
,
who
breakfasted
regularly
on
fat
broth
and
Caerphilly
cheese
in
the
fashion
of
his
ancestors
;
hot
,
spiced
elder
wine
was
for
winter
nights
,
and
gin
for
festal
seasons
.
The
farm
had
always
been
the
freehold
of
the
family
,
and
when
Lucian
,
in
the
wake
of
the
yeoman
,
passed
through
the
deep
porch
by
the
oaken
door
,
down
into
the
long
dark
kitchen
,
he
felt
as
though
the
seventeenth
century
still
lingered
on
.
One
mullioned
window
,
set
deep
in
the
sloping
wall
,
gave
all
the
light
there
was
through
quarries
of
thick
glass
in
which
there
were
whorls
and
circles
,
so
that
the
lapping
rose-branch
and
the
garden
and
the
fields
beyond
were
distorted
to
the
sight
.
Two
heavy
beams
,
oaken
but
whitewashed
,
ran
across
the
ceiling
;
a
little
glow
of
fire
sparkled
in
the
great
fireplace
,
and
a
curl
of
blue
smoke
fled
up
the
cavern
of
the
chimney
.
Here
was
the
genuine
chimney-corner
of
our
fathers
;
there
were
seats
on
each
side
of
the
fireplace
where
one
could
sit
snug
and
sheltered
on
December
nights
,
warm
and
merry
in
the
blazing
light
,
and
listen
to
the
battle
of
the
storm
,
and
hear
the
flame
spit
and
hiss
at
the
falling
snowflakes
.
At
the
back
of
the
fire
were
great
blackened
tiles
with
raised
initials
and
a
date.â.
€
”
I.M.
,
1684.
"
Sit
down
,
Master
Lucian
,
sit
down
,
sir
,
"
said
Morgan
.
"
Annie
,
"
he
called
through
one
of
the
numerous
doors
,
"
here
's
Master
Lucian
,
the
parson
,
would
like
a
drop
of
cider
.
Fetch
a
jug
,
will
you
,
directly
?
"
"
Very
well
,
father
,
"
came
the
voice
from
the
dairy
and
presently
the
girl
entered
,
wiping
the
jug
she
held
.
In
his
boyish
way
Lucian
had
been
a
good
deal
disturbed
by
Annie
Morgan
;
he
could
see
her
on
Sundays
from
his
seat
in
church
,
and
her
skin
,
curiously
pale
,
her
lips
that
seemed
as
though
they
were
stained
with
some
brilliant
pigment
,
her
black
hair
,
and
the
quivering
black
eyes
,
gave
him
odd
fancies
which
he
had
hardly
shaped
to
himself
.
Annie
had
grown
into
a
woman
in
three
years
,
and
he
was
still
a
boy
.
She
came
into
the
kitchen
,
curtsying
and
smiling
.
"
Good-day
,
Master
Lucian
,
and
how
is
Mr.
Taylor
,
sir
?
"
"
Pretty
well
,
thank
you
.
I
hope
you
are
well
.
"
"
Nicely
,
sir
,
thank
you
.
How
nice
your
voice
do
sound
in
church
,
Master
Lucian
,
to
be
sure
.
I
was
telling
father
about
it
last
Sunday
.
"
Lucian
grinned
and
felt
uncomfortable
,
and
the
girl
set
down
the
jug
on
the
round
table
and
brought
a
glass
from
the
dresser
.
She
bent
close
over
him
as
she
poured
out
the
green
oily
cider
,
fragrant
of
the
orchard
;
her
hand
touched
his
shoulder
for
a
moment
,
and
she
said
,
"
I
beg
your
pardon
,
sir
,
"
very
prettily
.
He
looked
up
eagerly
at
her
face
;
the
black
eyes
,
a
little
oval
in
shape
,
were
shining
,
and
the
lips
smiled
.
Annie
wore
a
plain
dress
of
some
black
stuff
,
open
at
the
throat
;
her
skin
was
beautiful
.
For
a
moment
the
ghost
of
a
fancy
hovered
unsubstantial
in
his
mind
;
and
then
Annie
curtsied
as
she
handed
him
the
cider
,
and
replied
to
his
thanks
with
,
"
And
welcome
kindly
,
sir
.
"
The
drink
was
really
good
;
not
thin
,
nor
sweet
,
but
round
and
full
and
generous
,
with
a
fine
yellow
flame
twinkling
through
the
green
when
one
held
it
up
to
the
light
.
It
was
like
a
stray
sunbeam
hovering
on
the
grass
in
a
deep
orchard
,
and
he
swallowed
the
glassful
with
relish
,
and
had
some
more
,
warmly
commending
it
.
Mr.
Morgan
was
touched
.
"
I
see
you
do
know
a
good
thing
,
sir
,
"
he
said
.
"
Is
,
indeed
,
now
,
it
's
good
stuff
,
though
it
's
my
own
makin
'
.
My
old
grandfather
he
planted
the
trees
in
the
time
of
the
wars
,
and
he
was
a
very
good
judge
of
an
apple
in
his
day
and
generation
.
And
a
famous
grafter
he
was
,
to
be
sure
.
You
will
never
see
no
swelling
in
the
trees
he
grafted
at
all
whatever
.
Now
there
's
James
Morris
,
Penyrhaul
,
he
's
a
famous
grafter
,
too
,
and
yet
them
Redstreaks
he
grafted
for
me
five
year
ago
,
they
be
all
swollen-like
below
the
graft
already
.
Would
you
like
to
taste
a
Blemmin
pippin
,
now
,
Master
Lucian
?
there
be
a
few
left
in
the
loft
,
I
believe
.
"
Lucian
said
he
should
like
an
apple
very
much
,
and
the
farmer
went
out
by
another
door
,
and
Annie
stayed
in
the
kitchen
talking
.
She
said
Mrs.
Trevor
,
her
married
sister
,
was
coming
to
them
soon
to
spend
a
few
days
.
"
She
's
got
such
a
beautiful
baby
,
"
said
Annie
,
"
and
he
's
quite
sensible-like
already
,
though
he
's
only
nine
months
old
.
Mary
would
like
to
see
you
,
sir
,
if
you
would
be
so
kind
as
to
step
in
;
that
is
,
if
it
's
not
troubling
you
at
all
,
Master
Lucian
.
I
suppose
you
must
be
getting
a
fine
scholar
now
,
sir
?
"
"
I
am
doing
pretty
well
,
thank
you
,
"
said
the
boy
.
"
I
was
first
in
my
form
last
term
.
"
"
Fancy
!
To
think
of
that
!
D'you
hear
,
father
,
what
a
scholar
Master
Lucian
be
getting
?
"
"
He
be
a
rare
grammarian
,
I
'm
sure
,
"
said
the
farmer
.
"
You
do
take
after
your
father
,
sir
;
I
always
do
say
that
nobody
have
got
such
a
good
deliverance
in
the
pulpit
.
"
Lucian
did
not
find
the
Blenheim
Orange
as
good
as
the
cider
,
but
he
ate
it
with
all
the
appearance
of
relish
,
and
put
another
,
with
thanks
,
in
his
pocket
.
He
thanked
the
farmer
again
when
he
got
up
to
go
;
and
Annie
curtsied
and
smiled
,
and
wished
him
good-day
,
and
welcome
,
kindly
.
Lucian
heard
her
saying
to
her
father
as
he
went
out
what
a
nice-mannered
young
gentleman
he
was
getting
,
to
be
sure
;
and
he
went
on
his
way
,
thinking
that
Annie
was
really
very
pretty
,
and
speculating
as
to
whether
he
would
have
the
courage
to
kiss
her
,
if
they
met
in
a
dark
lane
.
He
was
quite
sure
she
would
only
laugh
,
and
say
,
"
Oh
,
Master
Lucian
!
"
For
many
months
he
had
occasional
fits
of
recollection
,
both
cold
and
hot
;
but
the
bridge
of
time
,
gradually
lengthening
,
made
those
dreadful
and
delicious
images
grow
more
and
more
indistinct
,
till
at
last
they
all
passed
into
that
wonderland
which
a
youth
looks
back
upon
in
amazement
,
not
knowing
why
this
used
to
be
a
symbol
of
terror
or
that
of
joy
.
At
the
end
of
each
term
he
would
come
home
and
find
his
father
a
little
more
despondent
,
and
harder
to
cheer
even
for
a
moment
;
and
the
wall
paper
and
the
furniture
grew
more
and
more
dingy
and
shabby
.
The
two
cats
,
loved
and
ancient
beasts
,
that
he
remembered
when
he
was
quite
a
little
boy
,
before
he
went
to
school
,
died
miserably
,
one
after
the
other
.
Old
Polly
,
the
pony
,
at
last
fell
down
in
the
stable
from
the
weakness
of
old
age
,
and
had
to
be
killed
there
;
the
battered
old
trap
ran
no
longer
along
the
well-remembered
lanes
.
There
was
long
meadow
grass
on
the
lawn
,
and
the
trained
fruit
trees
on
the
wall
had
got
quite
out
of
hand
.
At
last
,
when
Lucian
was
seventeen
,
his
father
was
obliged
to
take
him
from
school
;
he
could
no
longer
afford
the
fees
.
This
was
the
sorry
ending
of
many
hopes
,
and
dreams
of
a
double-first
,
a
fellowship
,
distinction
and
glory
that
the
poor
parson
had
long
entertained
for
his
son
,
and
the
two
moped
together
,
in
the
shabby
room
,
one
on
each
side
of
the
sulky
fire
,
thinking
of
dead
days
and
finished
plans
,
and
seeing
a
grey
future
in
the
years
that
advanced
towards
them
.
At
one
time
there
seemed
some
chance
of
a
distant
relative
coming
forward
to
Lucian
's
assistance
;
and
indeed
it
was
quite
settled
that
he
should
go
up
to
London
with
certain
definite
aims
.
Mr.
Taylor
told
the
good
news
to
his
acquaintancesâ
€
”
his
coat
was
too
green
now
for
any
pretence
of
friendship
;
and
Lucian
himself
spoke
of
his
plans
to
Burrows
the
doctor
and
Mr.
Dixon
,
and
one
or
two
others
.
Then
the
whole
scheme
fell
through
,
and
the
parson
and
his
son
suffered
much
sympathy
.
People
,
of
course
,
had
to
say
they
were
sorry
,
but
in
reality
the
news
was
received
with
high
spirits
,
with
the
joy
with
which
one
sees
a
stone
,
as
it
rolls
down
a
steep
place
,
give
yet
another
bounding
leap
towards
the
pool
beneath
.
Mrs.
Dixon
heard
the
pleasant
tidings
from
Mrs.
Colley
,
who
came
in
to
talk
about
the
Mothers
'
Meeting
and
the
Band
of
Hope
.
Mrs.
Dixon
was
nursing
little
Athelwig
,
or
some
such
name
,
at
the
time
,
and
made
many
affecting
observations
on
the
general
righteousness
with
which
the
world
was
governed
.
Indeed
,
poor
Lucian
's
disappointment
seemed
distinctly
to
increase
her
