eath my steps. And all this while I
have not found the city.' And he turned and went his own way alone,
leaving them astonished.

And yet this would scarcely parallel the intensity of Will's feeling for
the plain. If he could only go far enough out there, he felt as if his
eyesight would be purged and clarified, as if his hearing would grow more
delicate, and his very breath would come and go with luxury. He was
transplanted and withering where he was; he lay in a strange country and
was sick for home. Bit by bit, he pieced together broken notions of the
world below: of the river, ever moving and growing until it sailed forth
into the majestic ocean; of the cities, full of brisk and beautiful
people, playing fountains, bands of music and marble palaces, and lighted
up at night from end to end with artificial stars of gold; of the great
churches, wise universities, brave armies, and untold money lying stored
in vaults; of the high-flying vice that moved in the sunshine, and the
stealth and swiftness of midnight murder. I have said he was sick as if
for home: the figure halts. He was like some one lying in twilit,
formless preexistence, and stretching out his hands lovingly towards many-
coloured, many-sounding life. It was no wonder he was unhappy, he would
go and tell the fish: they were made for their life, wished for no more
than worms and running water, and a hole below a falling bank; but he was
differently designed, full of desires and aspirations, itching at the
fingers, lusting with the eyes, whom the whole variegated world could not
satisfy with aspects. The true life, the true bright sunshine, lay far
out upon the plain. And O! to see this sunlight once before he died! to
move with a jocund spirit in a golden land! to hear the trained singers
and sweet church bells, and see the holiday gardens! 'And O fish!' he
would cry, 'if you would only turn your noses down stream, you could swim
so easily into the fabled waters and see the vast ships passing over your
head like clouds, and hear the great water-hills making music over you
all day long!' But the fish kept looking patiently in their own
direction, until Will hardly knew whether to laugh or cry.

Hitherto the traffic on the road had passed by Will, like something seen
in a picture: he had perhaps exchanged salutations with a tourist, or
caught sight of an old gentleman in a travelling cap at a carriage
window; but for the most part it had been a me