I am unjust in that--I
own it.'
'This is St. Launce's Station, I think. Are you going to get
out?'
Knight's manner of returning to the matter in hand drew Stephen
again into himself. 'No; I told you I was going to Endelstow,' he
resolutely replied.
Knight's features became impassive, and he said no more. The
train continued rattling on, and Stephen leant back in his corner
and closed his eyes. The yellows of evening had turned to browns,
the dusky shades thickened, and a flying cloud of dust
occasionally stroked the window--borne upon a chilling breeze
which blew from the north-east. The previously gilded but now
dreary hills began to lose their daylight aspects of rotundity,
and to become black discs vandyked against the sky, all nature
wearing the cloak that six o'clock casts over the landscape at
this time of the year.
Stephen started up in bewilderment after a long stillness, and it
was some time before he recollected himself.
'Well, how real, how real!' he exclaimed, brushing his hand across
his eyes.
'What is?' said Knight.
'That dream. I fell asleep for a few minutes, and have had a
dream--the most vivid I ever remember.'
He wearily looked out into the gloom. They were now drawing near
to Camelton. The lighting of the lamps was perceptible through
the veil of evening--each flame starting into existence at
intervals, and blinking weakly against the gusts of wind.
Pages:
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503