Daylight was just on the heels of dawn, with the sun following. The icy-blackness of the Great North Road banded itself with smoking mists that changed from solid pearl to writhing opal, as they lifted above hedge-row level. The dew-wet leaves of the upper branches turned suddenly into diamond facets, and that wind, which runs before the actual upheaval of the sun, swept out of the fragrant lands to the East, and touched my cheek--as many times it had touched it before, on the edge, or at the ends, of inconceivable experiences. My companion breathed deeply, while the low glare searched the folds of his coat and the sags and wrinkles of his face. We heard the far-away pulse of a car through the infinite, clean-born, light-filled stillness. It neared and stole round the bend--a motor-hearse on its way to some early or distant funeral, one side of the bright oak coffin showing beneath the pall, which had slipped a little. Then it vanished in a blaze of wet glory from the sun-drenched road, amid the songs of a thousand birds. Mr. Tarworth laid his hand on my shoulder. “Say, Neighbour,” he said. “There’s somethin’ very soothin’ in the Concept of Death after all.” Then he set himself, kindly and efficiently, to tow me towards Doncaster, where, when the day’s life should begin again, one might procure a new magneto make-and-break--that tiny two-inch spring of finest steel, failure of which immobilises any car. GOW’S WATCH Act IV.--Scene 4 _The Head of the Bargi Pass--in snow. Gow and Ferdinand with their Captains._ GOW (_to Ferdinand_). The Queen’s host would be delivered me to-day--but that these Mountain Men have sent battalia to hold the Pass. They’re shod, helmed and torqued with soft gold. For the rest, naked. By no argument can I persuade ’em their gilt carcasses against my bombards avail not. What’s to do, Fox? FERDINAND. Fatherless folk go furthest. These loud pagans Are doubly fatherless. Consider; they came Over the passes, out of all man’s world-- Adullamites, unable to endure Its ancient pinch and belly-ache--full of revenges, Or wilfully forgetful. The land they found Was manless--her raw airs uncloven by speech, Earth without wheel-track, hoof-mark, hearth or plough-share Since God created; nor even a cave where men, When night was a new thing, had hid themselves. GOW. Excellent. Do I fight them, or let go? FERDINAND. Unused earth, air and water for their spoil, And none to make comparison of their deeds. No unbribed dead to judge, accuse ’em or comfort-- Their present all their future and their past. What should they know of reason--litters of folk-- New whelped to emptiness? GOW. Nothing. They bar my path. FERDINAND. Turn it, then--turn it. Give them their triumph. They’ll be wiser anon--Some thirty generations hence.