behind St. Alban's
Head, and so pressed forward knowing I had a full ten miles to cover yet.

Thus I travelled on, and soon came to the first sign of man, namely a
flock of lambs being fed with turnips on a summer fallow. The sun was
well up now, and flushed all with a rosy glow, showing the sheep and the
roots they eat white against the brown earth. Still I saw no shepherd,
nor even dog, and about seven o'clock stood safe on Weatherbeech Hill
that looks down over Moonfleet.

There at my feet lay the Manor woods and the old house, and lower down
the white road and the straggling cottages, and farther still the Why
Not? and the glassy Fleet, and beyond that the open sea. I cannot say
how sad, yet sweet, the sight was: it seemed like the mirage of the
desert, of which I had been told--so beautiful, but never to be reached
again by me. The air was still, and the blue smoke of the morning
wood-fires rose straight up, but none from the Why Not? or Manor House.
The sun was already very hot, and I dropped at once from the hill-top,
digging my heels into the brown-burned turf, and keeping as much as might
be among the furze champs. So I was soon in the wood, and made straight
for the little dell and lay down there, burying myself in the wild
rhubarb and burdocks, yet so that I could see the doorway of the Manor
House over the lip of the hill.

Then I reflected what I was to do, or how I should get to speak with
Grace: and thought I would first wait an hour or two, and see whether she
came out, and afterwards, if she did not, would go down boldly and knock
at the door. This seemed not very dangerous, for it was likely, from what
Ratsey had said, that there was no one with her in the house, and if
there was it would be but an old woman, to whom I could pass as a
stranger in my disguise, and ask my way to some house in the village. So
I lay still and munched a piece of bread, and heard the clock in the
church tower strike eight and afterwards nine, but saw no one move in the
house. The wood was all alive with singing-birds, and with the calling of
cuckoo and wood-pigeon. There were deep patches of green shade and
lighter patches of yellow sunlight, in which the iris leaves gleamed with
a sheeny white, and a shimmering blue sea of ground-ivy spread all
through the wood. It struck ten, and as the heat increased the birds sang
less and the droning of the bees grew more distinct, and at last I got
up, shook myself, smoothed my smock