182 HIGHWATER MARK. 



fiercely; and each day more keenly and fiercely than 

 on the preceding. 



But there are indications of a change. The wind 

 has veered to the north ; and, if it is really colder, 

 our feelings give the lie to the thermometer, for it 

 does not feel half so cold. The leaden dreariness of 

 the sky is breaking up into hard mottled clouds, and 

 there is a bright belt of transparent gold that under- 

 lies the whole all round the eastern horizon, which 

 augurs well for the day. We go to the garden-gate, 

 look stedfastly in the wind's eye with clenched teeth, 

 button up our coat, and are off. 



December though it be, it is Devonshire ; and as 

 soon as we have got well clear of the high road, and 

 have turned into a narrow winding lane that leads 

 straight down (as straight, that is to say, as a Devon- 

 shire lane can lead) to the sea, we have forgotten 

 both cold north wind and warm fireside. 



The banks rise high on either hand, crowned with 

 yet loftier hedges, like sheltering walls. Many a red 

 and brown leaf still hangs on the brambles, and the 

 glossy ivy creeps and twines among them in a close 

 mat of verdure, uninterrupted for rood after rood, 

 ever and anon towering above the hedge in a dense 

 bush ; or climbs and fills the naked oaks and elms, 

 spreading wide its umbels of pale blossoms, or of 

 newly-formed green berries. But below the level of 

 the ivy, how rich and varied a mass of verdure yet 

 defies the winter storms 1 The rose-campion and the 

 herb robert still show their crimson blossoms ; and 



