flat level of the plain, with low hills rising on its verge; to the
right, a pale pool of water at the bottom of a secret valley,
reflecting the leafless bushes that fringe it, catches the sunset
gleam that rises in the west; and then range after range of wolds,
with pale-green pastures, dark copses, fawn-coloured ploughland,
here and there an emerald patch of young wheat. The air is fresh,
soft and fragrant, laden with rain; the earth smells sweet; and the
wild woodland scent comes blowing to me out of the heart of the
spinney. In front of me glimmer the rough wheel-tracks of a grassy
road that leads out on to the heath, and two obscure figures move
slowly nearer among the tufted gorse. They seem to me, those two
figures, charged with a grave significance, as though they came to
bear me tidings, messengers bidden to seek and find me, like the
men who visited Abraham at the close of the day.

As I linger, the day grows darker, the colour fading from leaf and
blade; bright points of light flash out among the dark ridges from
secluded farms, where the evening lamp is lit.

Sometimes on days like this, when the moisture hangs upon the
hedges, when the streams talk hoarsely to themselves in grassy
channels, when the road is full of pools, one is weary, unstrung
and dissatisfied, faint of purpose, tired of labour, desiring
neither activity nor rest; the soul sits brooding, like the black
crows that I see in the leafless wood beneath me, perched silent
and draggled on the tree-tops, just waiting for the sun and the dry
keen airs to return; but to-day it is not so; I am full of a quiet
hope, an acquiescent tranquillity. My heart talks gently to itself,
as to an unseen friend, telling its designs, its wishes, its
activities. I think of those I hold dear, all the world over; I am