He walked for about a couple of miles through a level country, somewhat Flemish in its character, a country that had only the charm of rusticity to recommend it. Then he came all at once upon a raw-looking church, of a commonplace order, a few straggling cottages, and a steep rugged-looking hill, which rose out of the level plain with an extraordinary suddenness. He climbed this hill by a rough road, which dwindled by and by into a narrow winding track, and mounted in the early sunlight to an undulating heathy hill-top looking wide over the blue waters of the Channel. On this hill-top there was no human habitation, only a votive chapel and the white statue of a saint, looking down upon the quiet hillocks and hollows, the clumps of furze, and tranquil sheep cropping the dewy grass in the sweet morning air. He had never looked on a more pleasant scene. The world, life, and all its cares lay far below him--the blue wood smoke was curling up from the chimneys of many-gabled Dol, the church tower and its stunted twin brother, the tower that had never been finished, rose darkly above all meaner things on the level plain, white sails of passing vessels were shining yonder against the blue horizon. He felt himself alone upon this lonely hill, in a serener atmosphere than the air of every-day life. A saintly hermit of old time might have passed his contemplative days pleasantly enough in a cell adjoining the chapel yonder. He rambled round the hill-top, lingering every now and then to look landward or seaward, for on either side the prospect was full of beauty. It was a spot where any man, with a genuine love of nature, might feel that he could spend hours and days of life, alone with his own thoughts and the peaceful beauty round him. The big bell of Dol chimed nine, the bright autumn sun climbed higher in the blue clear sky, a sheep-bell tinkled, an elderly lamb bleated, a little shepherd boy sang his little nasal song, a late bumble-bee buzzed among late furze bloom. There were no other sounds. Cyril made the circuit of the chapel, which was closely locked against intrusion. He looked at the statue, and turned his face idly seaward for the twentieth time, thinking within himself how foolishly he was wasting his day, and how little this perambulation of the Mont Dol would help him towards the accomplishment of his mission; and as he was thinking thus, and as he turned from the statue to the sea, he found himself face to face with something sweeter than the glad blue sea, dearer than all the wide bright earth, the face of the woman he loved. She was standing before him, looking at him with a grave sad smile, dressed in black, and thin and careworn, beautiful only for eyes that loved her, since she had wasted the freshness of her youth and beauty in tears and sleepless nights, and untimely cares.