monest corner
of earth, so the sky will perpetually transfigure large spaces of level
country, valley or plain, laid open to its capricious influences. Boars
Hill looks over the wide valley of the narrow Og to the downs, and up to
where that merges into the valley of the Upper Thames. By the sandy
track which Ian followed, the tree still stood, though no longer alone,
whence the poet of _Thyrsis_ looking northward, saw the "fair city with
her dreaming spires"; less fair indeed to-day than when he looked upon
it, but still "lovely all times," in all its fleeting shades, whether
blond and sharp-cut in the sunshine or dimly gray among its veiling
trees. The blue waving line of the downs, crowned here and there by
clumps of trees, ran far along the southwestern horizon, melting
vaporously in the distance above "the Vale, the three lone weirs, the
youthful Thames." Over the downs and over the wide valley of ripening
cornfields, of indigo hedgerow-elms and greener willow and woodland, of
red-roofed homesteads and towered churches, moved slowly the broad
shadows of rolling clouds that journeyed through the intense blue above.
Some shadows were like veils of pale gray gauze, through which the world
showed a delicately softened face; others were dark, with a rich,
indefinable hue of their own, and as they moved, the earth seemed to
burst into a deeper glow of color behind them. Close by, the broken
hill-side was set here and there with oak and thorn, was everywhere deep
in bracken, on whose large fronds lay the bluish bloom of their
maturity. It all gained a definiteness of form, an air of meaning by its
detachment from the wide background floating behind.

Following steep and circuitous lanes, Ian arrived at the lodging-house
and found Tims on the porch preparing to start on her bicycle. But
flattered and surprised by his visit, she ordered tea in the bright
little sitting-room she was inhabiting. He was shy of approaching the
real object of his visit. They marked time awhile till the thunderstorm
became their theme. Then he told something of Milly's sleep-walking, her
collapse of memory; and watched Tims meantime, hoping to see in her face
merely surprise and concern. But there was no surprise, hardly concern
in the queer little face. There was excitement, and at last a flash of
positive pleasure.

"Good old M.!" she observed. "I'm glad she has got back; though I'm a
bit proud of the other one too. I expect you feel much the