34 I^tc Days in Patagonia. 



when they were with inc. That break in the tenor 

 of their lives ; the enforced change of habits ; the 

 conflict between two opposite emotions — the ties of 

 place that held them back, seen and guessed in their 

 actions, and the voice that called them away, speak- 

 mg ever more imperatively, which so wrought in 

 them that at moments they were beside themselves — 

 noting all this, hearing and seeing it at all hours of 

 the day, T seemed to be nearer to the discovery of 

 some hidden truth than when they were no longer 

 in sight. But now they were gone, and with their 

 departure had vanished my last excuse for I'estiug 

 longer inactive — at that spot, at all events. 



I started afresh on my up-river journey, and paid 

 a long visit to an English estancia about sixty miles 

 from the town. I spent much of my time there in 

 solitary rambles, tasting once more of the "sweet 

 and bitter cup of wild Nature." Her colour was 

 grey, her mood pensive as winter deepened, and 

 there was nothing in the cup to inflame the fancy. 

 But it was tonic. ]\Iy rides were often to the hills, 

 or terraced uplands, outside of the level valley; but 

 my description of that grey desolate sohtude and 

 its effects on me must be reserved for a later 

 chapter, when T shall have dropped once for all this 

 thread of narrative, slight and loosely held as it is. 

 In the present chapter and the succeeding one I 

 shall treat of the aspects of nature in the valley 

 itself. For I did not remain too long at any one 

 point, but during the autumn, winter, and spring 

 months I resided at various points, and visited the 



