Their very motions were so lazy and slow, that they
served to fill up the mind with the sensation of dreamy rest.
Ruth and Mr. Bellingham plunged through the broken ground to
regain the road near the wayside inn. Hand-in-hand, now pricked
by the far-spreading gorse, now ankle-deep in sand; now pressing
the soft, thick heath, which should make so brave an autumn show;
and now over wild thyme and other fragrant herbs, they made their
way, with many a merry laugh. Once on the road, at the summit,
Ruth stood silent, in breathless delight at the view before her.
The hill fell suddenly down into the plain, extending for a dozen
miles or more. There was a clump of dark Scotch firs close to
them, which cut clear against the western sky, and threw back the
nearest levels into distance. The plain below them was richly
wooded, and was tinted by the young tender hues of the earliest
summer, for all the trees of the wood had donned their leaves
except the cautious ash, which here and there gave a soft,
pleasant greyness to the landscape. Far away in the champaign
were spires, and towers, and stacks of chimneys belonging to some
distant hidden farmhouse, which were traced downwards through the
golden air by the thin columns of blue smoke sent up from the
evening fires. The view was bounded by some rising ground in deep
purple shadow against the sunset sky. When first they stopped,
silent with sighing pleasure, the air seemed full of pleasant
noises; distant church-bells made harmonious music with the
little singing-birds near at hand; nor were the lowings of the
cattle nor the calls of the farm-servants discordant, for the
voices seemed to be hushed by the brooding consciousness of the
Sabbath.
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