the brown thatch, the little wreaths of opal smoke, the superb elms that dominate all—the valley was now but a valley of shadows, formless, unguessable. Only the black hedges might be traced against the pallor of field and hill, and the elms, indefinite but unconquered, surged violet-edged over the sky-line. The pollards, too, seemed soft round clouds that had come to rest by the water. On Ottley Down the clump lay like a couched lion, rather terrible of aspect. It was as if some great beast of the night had come early to the hill's edge, and now waited for utter darkness before it descended upon the village.
On the rail of the wooden bridge I leaned and stared after the sun, and thanked God that I am not as other men are, such men as, at that same moment, might be clearing their way remorselessly, with a fair thing upon their arm, towards a buffet. On the bridge one had no company but oneself. One had elbow-room, at any rate. Had a certain fair thing been with me, I had been well content, but she was gone to bed like a sensible woman.
And I listened to the sounds of the night.
There are more of these by the stream than elsewhere, on the road, or in the fields. There stealthy, dry little noises come out of the hedges where the field people go about their business. A goat-sucker may purr, a horse snort, a cow low,
