The
beech woods that had glowed with ruddy light were naked now; mere
black trunks and rigid arms pointing to heaven. An earthy smell
filled the air; a hundred paces away a wall of mist closed the
view. We plodded on sadly up hill and down hill, now fording
brooks, already stained with flood-water, now crossing barren
heaths. But up hill or down hill, whatever the outlook, I was
never permitted to forget that I was the jailor, the ogre, the
villain; that I, riding behind in my loneliness, was the blight
on all--the death-spot. True, I was behind the others--I escaped
their eyes. But there was not a line of Mademoiselle's figure
that did not speak scorn to me; not a turn of head that did not
seem to say, 'Oh, God, that such a thing should breathe.'
I had only speech with her once during the day, and that was on
the last ridge before we went down into the valley to climb up
again to Auch. The rain had ceased; the sun, near its setting,
shone faintly; for a few moments we stood on the brow and looked
southwards while we breathed the horses. The mist lay like a
pall on the country we had traversed; but beyond and above it,
gleaming pearl-like in the level rays, the line of the mountains
stood up like a land of enchantment, soft, radiant, wonderful!--
or like one of those castles on the Hill of Glass of which the
old romances tell us.
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