future that were gathering around her; her melancholy turned, with
the pliancy of childish years, at sixteen not yet lost, into a
softened manner which was infinitely charming. By-and-by she cleared
up into sunny happiness. The evening was still and full of mellow
light, and the new-born summer was so delicious that, in common with
all young creatures, she shared its influence and was glad.

They stood together at the top of a steep ascent, "the hill" of the
hundred. At the summit there was a level space, sixty or seventy
yards square, of unenclosed and broken ground, over which the golden
bloom of the gorse cast a rich hue, while its delicious scent
perfumed the fresh and nimble air. On one side of this common, the
ground sloped down to a clear bright pond, in which were mirrored the
rough sand-cliffs that rose abrupt on the opposite bank; hundreds
of martens found a home there, and were now wheeling over the
transparent water, and dipping in their wings in their evening sport.
Indeed, all sorts of birds seemed to haunt the lonely pool; the
water-wagtails were scattered around its margin, the linnets perched
on the topmost sprays of the gorse-bushes, and other hidden warblers
sang their vespers on the uneven ground beyond. On the far side
of the green waste, close by the road, and well placed for the
requirements of horses or their riders who might be weary with the
ascent of the hill, there was a public-house, which was more of a
farm than an inn. It was a long, low building, rich in dormer-windows
on the weather side, which were necessary in such an exposed
situation, and with odd projections and unlooked-for gables on every
side; there was a deep porch in front, on whose hospitable benches
a dozen persons might sit and enjoy the balmy air. A noble sycamore
grew right before the house, with seats all round it ("such tents
the patriarchs loved"); and a nondescript sign hung from a branch
on the side next to the road, which, being wisely furnished with an
interpretation, was found to mean King Charles in the oak.

Near this comfortable, quiet, unfrequented inn, there was another
pond, for household and farm-yard purposes, from which the cattle
were drinking, before returning to the fields after they had been
milked. Their very motions were so lazy and slow, that they served
to fill up the mind with the sensation of dreamy rest. Ruth and Mr
Bellingham plunged through the broken ground to regain the road near
the way