in
the morning. Twelve miles only had to be accomplished this first day,
and we could saunter as we chose, making our dinner of the little loaves
which we had bought hot from the oven, as we quitted the town, and
drinking of the clear little rills, which were gurgling merrily under
the brown hedge-rows. If we reached the convent before six o'clock we
should find the doors open, and should gain admission.

But in the afternoon the sky changed. The low floor of clouds rose
gradually, and began to spread themselves, growing grayer and thicker as
they crept higher into the sky. The blue became paler and colder. The
wind changed a point or two from the south, and a breath from the east
blew, with a chilly touch, over the wide open plain we were now
crossing.

Insensibly our high spirits sank. Minima ceased to prattle; and I began
to shiver a little, more from an inward dread of the utterly unknown
future, than from any chill of the easterly wind. The road was very
desolate. Not a creature had we seen for an hour or two, from whom I
could inquire if we were on the high-road to Granville. About noon we
had passed a roadside cross, standing where three ways met, and below it
a board had pointed toward Granville. I had followed its direction in
confidence, but now I began to feel somewhat anxious. This road, along
which the grass was growing, was strangely solitary and dreary.

It brought us after a while to the edge of a common, stretching before
us, drear and brown, as far as my eye could reach. A wild, weird-looking
flat, with no sign of cultivation; and the road running across it lying
in deep ruts, where moss and grass were springing. As far as I could
guess, it was drawing near to five o'clock; and, if we had wandered out
of our way, the right road took an opposite direction some miles behind
us. There was no gleam of sunshine now, no vision of blue overhead. All
there was gray, gloomy, and threatening. The horizon was rapidly
becoming invisible; a thin, cold, clinging vapor shut it from us. Every
few minutes a fold of this mist overtook us, and wrapped itself about
us, until the moaning wind drifted it away. Minima was quite silent now,
and her weary feet dragged along the rough road. The hand which rested
upon my wrist felt hot, as it clasped it closely. The child was worn
out, and was suffering more than I did, though in uncomplaining
patience.

"Are you very tired, my Minima?" I asked.

"It will be so nice to go