He decided to climb into the park and
wait till he came upon her in some spot where they were not likely to
be observed.
Next day the great heat of the last week was gone, and the melancholy sky
was dark with lowering clouds. Arthur inquired for the road which led to
Skene, and set out to walk the three miles which separated him from it.
The country was grey and barren. There was a broad waste of heath, with
gigantic boulders strewn as though in pre-historic times Titans had waged
there a mighty battle. Here and there were trees, but they seemed hardly
to withstand the fierce winds of winter; they were old and bowed before
the storm. One of them attracted his attention. It had been struck by
lightning and was riven asunder, leafless; but the maimed branches were
curiously set on the trunk so that they gave it the appearance of a human
being writhing in the torture of infernal agony. The wind whistled
strangely. Arthur's heart sank as he walked on. He had never seen a
country so desolate.
He came to the park gates at last and stood for some time in front of
them.
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