in his mind. It was now too late
to visit the Hill, even if he had wished; and he could not have so
vexed the old man as to visit it from his house. He stood for awhile
at the gate looking down at it. It was hot and still in the valley.
The tide was out and the warm air quivered over the sandbanks. But the
Hill had a stillness of its own, as though it guarded a secret, and
lay looking out towards the sea. He could see the small crags upon it,
in the calm air, and the bushes that grew plentifully all over it,
with here and there a little green lawn, or a glade sloping down to
the green flat in which it stood. The old man was beside him and said
in his shrill piping voice, "You are not thinking of going to the
Hill, sir?" "Not now, at all events," said Gilbert, smiling. But the
old man said, "Ah, sir, you will not go--there are other things in
this world of ours, beside the hills and woods and farms; it would be
strange if that were all. The spirits of the dead walk at noonday in
the places they have loved; and I have thought that the souls of those
who have done wickedness are sometimes bound to a place where they
might have done good things, and while they are vexed at all the evil
their hands have wrought, they are drawn by a kind of evil habit to do
what they chose to do on earth. Perhaps those who are faithful can
resist them--but it is ill to tempt them."

Gilbert was surprised at this wise talk from so simple a man; and he
said, "How is it that these thoughts come into your mind?" "Oh, sir,"
said the other, "I am old and live much alone; and these are some of
the thoughts that come into my head as I go about my work, but who
sends them to me I cannot tell."

Then Gilbert said farewell, and would have paid for his meal, but the
old man courteously refused, and said that it was a pleasure to see a
stranger in that lonely place; and that it made him think more kindly
of the world to talk so simply with one who was, he was sure, so great
a gentleman.

Gilbert smiled, and said he was only a simple scholar; and then he
went back to the vicarage house. He told the Vicar of his adventure,
and the Vicar said he had heard of the Hill, and that there was
something strange in the dread which the place inspired. Then Gilbert
said, half impatiently, that it was a pity that people were so ridden
by needless superstition, and made fears for themselves when there was
so much in the world that it was well to fear. But the old Vi