The Argosy — page 308: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

292 WITHIN THEIR GATES. I. HE summer sun blazes down hotly enough upon the dwellers in cities, upon the inhabitants of bare, low-lying countries. But far away in the cool regions that lie under the friendly shadow of those hills, that are so grand, and so remote and unfrequented that they hardly seem to belong to the rest of our island, all is freshness and delight. No paving-stones are here to burn the feet, no white sands to give back the fierce glare of the sun. Everywhere the green livery of nature is tinged with living gold ; pleasant breezes blow on crystal streams, brown hills near at hand melt into blue ones afar off; sunny meadows skirt woods dark with shadow; and glimpses of landscape are caught that might ravish an artist, if ever artist came to these primitive solitudes. The roads which traverse this region are mostly good ; and, whether flecked by the shadows of wavitig woods, or sweeping past orchards where the fruit-trees stand waist-deep in luxuriant grass, or in front of the old-fashioned country houses, are always pleasant highways for the traveller. Along one of these highways, on a summer evening when the air seemed full of golden serenity, when the shadows were long and the day near its close, came a man who did not belong to any holiday class of traveller. He was a pedestrian of jaded appearance, whose, dress was covered with dust, and whose lagging step proved that he had travelled long and far, and he bore in his hand a small black valise. Despite this apparent fatigue, however, and notwithstanding that he was plainly little used to hardship, he kept steadily on his way, glancing rarely to the right or left, but fixing his gaze on the road before him and plodding steadily forward. He was young; six or seven and twenty, perhaps; and he evidently belonged to the better classes, for “ gentleman” was written on every look and move- ment. His dark face, of remarkably fine, clear outline, his lithe, tall, slender figure, his delicate hand and shapely foot, attested this fact in a manner which could not be doubted or denied. He wore no beard; and as he walked his lips were compressed rigidly, giving an ex- pression of resolution, of defiant determination, to his face. The sun was very nearly gone when he came to a fork in the high- way where no less than three roads diverged towards widely different points. Having paused and looked vainly around for any trace of a sign-post or milestone to direct his steps, he sat down at the fogs ofa large tree with an air of exhaustion. comicbooks.co