What is it?"
Mr. Elster went strolling along on the banks of the river, towards Calne;
not with any particular purpose, but in his restless uneasiness. He had a
tender conscience, and his past follies were pressing on it heavily. Of
one thing he felt sure--that he was more deeply involved than Hartledon
or anyone else suspected, perhaps even himself. The way was charming in
fine weather, though less pleasant in winter. It was by no means a
frequented road, and belonged of right to Lord Hartledon only; but it was
open to all. Few chose it when they could traverse the more ordinary way.
The narrow path on the green plain, sheltered by trees, wound in and out,
now on the banks of the river, now hidden amidst a portion of the wood.
Altogether it was a wild and lonely pathway; not one that a timid nature
would choose on a dark night. You might sit in the wood, which lay to the
left, a whole day through, and never see a soul.
One part of the walk was especially beautiful. A green hollow, where the
turf was soft as moss; open to the river on the right, with a glimpse of
the lovely scenery beyond; and on the left, the clustering trees of the
wood. Yet further, through a break in the trees, might be seen a view of
the houses of Calne. A little stream, or rivulet, trickled from the wood,
and a rustic bridge--more for ornament than use, for a man with long legs
could stride the stream well--was thrown over it.
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