He cannot
return till he has found that of which he is in search."
"Could he not give up the search?" said Maud, smiling tearfully.
"Ah, not yet," I said. "You do not know, Maud, what my work has
been to me--no man can ever explain that to any woman, I think: for
women live in life, but man lives in work. Man DOES, woman IS.
There is the difference."
We drew near the village. The red sun was sinking over the plain, a
ball of fire; the mist was creeping up from the low-lying fields;
the moon hung, like a white nail-paring, high in the blue sky. We
went to the little inn, where we had been before. We ordered tea--
we were to return by train--and Maud being tired, I left her, while
I took a turn in the village, and explored the remains of an old
manor-house, which I had seen often from the road. I was
intolerably restless. I found a lane which led to the fields behind
the manor. It was a beautiful scene. To the left of me ran the
great plain brimmed with mist; the manor, with its high gables and
chimney-stacks, stood up over an orchard, surrounded by a high,
ancient brick wall, with a gate between tall gate-posts surmounted
by stone balls. The old pasture lay round the house, and there were
many ancient elms and sycamores forming a small park, in the boughs
of which the rooks, who were now streaming home from the fields,
were clamorous.
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