224 GOLDEN DAYS 



occupied with his own thoughts and the 

 glamour of the night, while the white 

 ribbon of the road ever unwound before 

 us. Then at the breast of a hill we 

 caught the first faint murmur of the 

 river far below ; further, we reached the 

 bridge, which rang hollow beneath our 

 horses' hoofs. The river here flowed 

 deep and dark, gurgling and talking as it 

 passed the piers ; above it lay a long still 

 reach of silver, backed by gaunt poplar- 

 trees. Beyond, the mill, its white walls 

 shining, bathed in mellow light, its vast 

 wheel motionless and silent. On again, up 

 through the still beech-woods to open 

 country, half moor, half pasture-land ; and 

 there before us, set in a barren space, an 

 ancient Breton chapel. I knew it well, 

 this chapel of St. Herbot. Many a sunny 

 day had I painted here ; but now in this 

 strange light it all seemed changed. The 

 old stone facade and the crumbhng arch 

 were lost, veiled in deep shadow. The 

 fretted spire loomed big against the sky. 



Jean pulled up, unpocketing a vast 

 time-piece ; then, turning with an air 

 half grave, half humorous : " If Monsieur 



