it of that plateau of brown rock which bounds Valladolid upon the
north was the cause or consequence of his implication.

He had climbed this sharp ridge because a track wavered up it which cut
off some miles of the road. It was not easy going by any means, but
the view rewarded him. The land stretched away to the four quarters of
the compass and disappeared into a copper-brown haze. He stood well
above the plain, which seemed infinite. Corn-land and waste, river-bed
and moor, were laid out below him as in a geographer's model. He
thought that he stood up there apart, contemplating time and existence.
He was indeed upon the convex of the world, projecting from it into
illimitable space, consciously sharing its mighty surge.

This did not belittle him. On the contrary, he felt something of the
helmsman's pride, something of the captain's on the bridge. He was
driving the world. He soared, perched up there, apart from men and
their concerns. All Spain lay at his feet; he marked the way it must
go. It was possible for him now to watch a man crawl, like a maggot,
from his cradle, and urge a painful way to his grave. And, to his
exalted eye, from cradle to grave was but a span's length.

From such sublime investigation it was but a step to sublimity itself.
His soul seemed separate from his body; he was dispassionate,
superhuman, all-seeing and all-comprehending. Now he could see men as
winged ants, crossing each other, nearing, drifting apart,
interweaving, floating in a cloud, blown high, blown low by wafts of
air; and here, presently, came one Manvers, and there, driven by a
gust, went another, Manuela.

At these two insects, as one follows idly one gull out of a flock, he
could look with interest, and without emotion. He saw them drift,
touch and part, and each be blown its way, helpless mote in the dust of
the great plain. From one to the other he turned his eyes. The
Manvers gnat flew the straighter course, holding to an upper current;
the Manuela wavered, but tended ever to a lower plane. The wind from
the mountains of Asturias freshened and blew over him. In a singular
moment of divination he saw the two insects of his vision caught in the
draught and whirled together again. A spiral flight upwards was begun;
in ever-narrowing circles they climbed, bid fair to soar. They reached
a steadier stream, they sped along together; but then, as a gust took
them, they dipped below it and steadily declined