ecause
the water surrounding it was blue and clear as crystal. So many golden
apples grew in the island orchards, that it became also the Isle of
Avalon, from "Avalla" an apple.

Even now, the queer conical, isolated hills of the neighbourhood are
called islands, and it is easy to picture Glastonbury as an isle rising
among lesser ones out of a bright, azure estuary stretching away and
away to the Bristol Channel. The Saxon king, Edgar, whose royal castle
has given the name to the town of Edgarly, must have had a fine view in
his day. And now you have only to go up Tor Hill (a landmark for miles
round, with its tower of St. Michael on top like the watch-dog of a dead
king) to see Wells Cathedral to the north, the blue Mendips east and
west, and cutting the range, a mysterious break, like a door, which
means the wild pass of Cheddar; far in the west, a gleam of the Bristol
Channel; south, the Polden Hills, the Dorset heights beyond, and the
Quantocks overtopped by the peak of Dunkery Beacon. I think one would
have to go far to see more of England in one sweep of the eye. Indeed,
foreigners might come, make a hasty ascent of Tor Hill, and take the
next boat back to their own country, telling their friends not
untruthfully that they had "seen England."

At night, in the room of Henry VIII., I dreamed I saw Anne Boleyn, with
Ellaline's face, which smiled at me, the lips saying: "I'll forgive you,
if you'll forgive me." I hope that's a good omen?

We gave ourselves twenty-four hours in Glastonbury and the
neighbourhood, running out to the prehistoric village at Godney Marsh,
to see the excavations, and to Meare (by the by, the very causeway over
which our motor spun was built of stones from the Abbey!) then on,
toward evening, to Wells. There have been surprisingly blue evenings
lately, to which Ellaline has drawn my attention; and her simile on the
way to Wells, that we seemed to be driving through a pelting rain of
violets, I thought rather pretty. What shall I do, I wonder, if I have
to part with her--give her to some other man, perhaps? It hardly bears
thinking of. And yet it may easily happen. It seems to me that every man
who sees her must want her; and the feeling doesn't make for peace or
comfort. I suppose I might be different, and less the brute, if I hadn't
lived so long in the East, growing used to Eastern customs; but as it
is, when I see some man's eyes light upon her face and rest there in
surprised admirat