These hills are clothed with underwood,
in which large oaks grow to within some two hundred yards of this house
where I write, and this underwood is pierced by paths that my mother
laid out, for she loved to walk here. One of these paths runs along the
bottom of the hill by the edge of the pleasant river Waveney, and the
other a hundred feet or more above and near the crest of the slope, or
to speak more plainly, there is but one path shaped like the letter O,
placed thus [symbol of O laying on its side omitted], the curved ends of
the letter marking how the path turns upon the hill-side.
Now I struck the path at the end that is furthest from this house, and
followed that half of it which runs down by the river bank, having the
water on one side of it and the brushwood upon the other. Along this
lower path I wandered, my eyes fixed upon the ground, thinking deeply
as I went, now of the joy of Lily's love, and now of the sorrow of
our parting and of her father's wrath. As I went, thus wrapped in
meditation, I saw something white lying upon the grass, and pushed it
aside with the point of the Spaniard's sword, not heeding it. Still, its
shape and fashioning remained in my mind, and when I had left it some
three hundred paces behind me, and was drawing near to the house, the
sight of it came back to me as it lay soft and white upon the grass,
and I knew that it was familiar to my eyes.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60