Pulp Fiction, 1865 · page 399 of 400
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376 The Channel Islands. We varied ours; passed by the churlish old cobbler’s, whose lighted window proved that he had not yet sought that repose so necessary to an irritable brain; down by the windmill, with its ghostly and revolving arms; and then, leaving the high road, plunged into the inequalities and uncertainties of fields and valleys. In time we found we had safely done the common, crossed the shallow stream and passed through the gate. Beyond this we were on our own territories, and a few moments found us in the snug shelter and seclusion of the inn. Blinds were down and curtains drawn, a bright lamp stood on the table, the flames of a roaring fire flew up the chimney, H. was once more in the paradise of fire-wor- N /, 7 “/ * i Cr A 4 i) AAW iS A Va oP) vie j ne oe (ty ete? : rh) whe Wy i, 4 ‘ yi re a A. Wd 5 my Aa = = ~ ia —— Ww rat we 4 ms | ea ae a) , ‘ “iD x .- we * a ce =. 5 - ; = = . = - . ri « : ‘ * “* — LFA pe | A" <> =~ — i ~ e/ “ yS . SS | ‘ / Nn ad 4 RAYS S53 : (pm A ; } y)| / > y et, Yes ~ : . a, * ‘ ae ae 4 > A BIT OF SARK. shippers. In that glorious night I could have remained out for hours, enjoying the moonlight and the clouds, the dark heathery stretches, the lonely valleys and the restless sea: everything in nature that was solemn and suggestive. And the strong wind that blew was neither harsh nor cold: it never seemed so here, either by night or day, but was unspeakably delicious and bracing, no matter how strong, or whence its quarter. As a rule, much wind is an abomi- nation, at least to the present writer: in Sark it was a luxury and a blessing. And it was always thus. Stormy days and nights succeeded each other, and the little island was in harmony with them. Even the autumn season, with its subdued tints and falling leaves, was a sort of minor key that adapted itself to the restless elements—a minor key, yet without melancholy. Gomicbooks. co