The Hill of Dreams | Page 2

deal of relief, and a little disappointment, on
familiar ground. He had nearly described a circle, and knew this end of
the lane very well; it was not much more than a mile from home. He
walked smartly down the hill; the air was all glimmering and indistinct,
transmuting trees and hedges into ghostly shapes, and the walls of the
White House Farm flickered on the hillside, as if they were moving
towards him. Then a change came. First, a little breath of wind brushed
with a dry whispering sound through the hedges, the few leaves left on
the boughs began to stir, and one or two danced madly, and as the wind

freshened and came up from a new quarter, the sapless branches above
rattled against one another like bones. The growing breeze seemed to
clear the air and lighten it. He was passing the stile where a path led to
old Mrs. Gibbon's desolate little cottage, in the middle of the fields, at
some distance even from the lane, and he saw the light blue smoke of
her chimney rise distinct above the gaunt greengage trees, against a
pale band that was broadening along the horizon. As he passed the stile
with his head bent, and his eyes on the ground, something white started
out from the black shadow of the hedge, and in the strange twilight,
now tinged with a flush from the west, a figure seemed to swim past
him and disappear. For a moment he wondered who it could be, the
light was so flickering and unsteady, so unlike the real atmosphere of
the day, when he recollected it was only Annie Morgan, old Morgan's
daughter at the White House. She was three years older than he, and it
annoyed him to find that though she was only fifteen, there had been a
dreadful increase in her height since the summer holidays. He had got
to the bottom of the hill, and, lifting up his eyes, saw the strange
changes of the sky. The pale band had broadened into a clear vast space
of light, and above, the heavy leaden clouds were breaking apart and
driving across the heaven before the wind. He stopped to watch, and
looked up at the great mound that jutted out from the hills into
mid-valley. It was a natural formation, and always it must have had
something of the form of a fort, but its steepness had been increased by
Roman art, and there were high banks on the summit which Lucian's
father had told him were the vallum of the camp, and a deep ditch had
been dug to the north to sever it from the hillside. On this summit oaks
had grown, queer stunted-looking trees with twisted and contorted
trunks, and writhing branches; and these now stood out black against
the lighted sky. And then the air changed once more; the flush
increased, and a spot like blood appeared in the pond by the gate, and
all the clouds were touched with fiery spots and dapples of flame; here
and there it looked as if awful furnace doors were being opened.
The wind blew wildly, and it came up through the woods with a noise
like a scream, and a great oak by the roadside ground its boughs
together with a dismal grating jar. As the red gained in the sky, the
earth and all upon it glowed, even the grey winter fields and the bare

hillsides crimsoned, the waterpools were cisterns of molten brass, and
the very road glittered. He was wonder-struck, almost aghast, before
the scarlet magic of the afterglow. The old Roman fort was invested
with fire; flames from heaven were smitten about its walls, and above
there was a dark floating cloud, like fume of smoke, and every haggard
writhing tree showed as black as midnight against the black of the
furnace.
When he got home he heard his mother's voice calling: "Here's Lucian
at last. Mary, Master Lucian has come, you can get the tea ready." He
told a long tale of his adventures, and felt somewhat mortified when his
father seemed perfectly acquainted with the whole course of the lane,
and knew the names of the wild woods through which he had passed in
awe.
"You must have gone by the Darren, I suppose"--that was all he said.
"Yes, I noticed the sunset; we shall have some stormy weather. I don't
expect to see many in church tomorrow."
There was buttered toast for tea "because it was holidays." The red
curtains were drawn, and a bright fire was burning, and there was the
old familiar furniture, a little shabby, but charming from association. It
was much pleasanter than the cold and squalid schoolroom; and much
better to be reading Chambers's Journal than learning