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 farmyard 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 wayside inn.  Hand-in-hand, now pricked by the far-spreading gorse, now ankle-deep in sand; now pressing the soft, thick heath, which should make so brave an autumn show; and now over wild thyme and other fragrant herbs, they made their way, with many a merry laugh.  Once on the road, at the summit, Ruth stood silent, in breathless delight at the view before her.  The hill fell suddenly down into the plain, extending for a dozen miles or more.  There was a clump of dark Scotch firs close to them, which cut clear against the western sky, and threw back the nearest levels into distance.  The plain below them was richly wooded, and was tinted by the young tender hues of the earliest summer, for all the trees of the wood had donned their leaves except the cautious ash, which here and there gave a soft, pleasant greyness to the landscape.  Far away in the champaign were spires, and towers, and stacks of chimneys belonging to some distant hidden farmhouse, which were traced downwards through the golden air by the thin columns of blue smoke sent up from the evening fires.  The view was bounded by some rising ground in deep purple shadow against the sunset sky.  When first they stopped, silent with sighing pleasure, the air seemed full of pleasant noises; distant church-bells made harmonious music with the little singing-birds near at hand; nor were the lowings of the cattle nor the calls of the farm-servants discordant, for the voices seemed to be hushed by the brooding consciousness of the Sabbath.  They stood loitering before the house, quietly enjoying the view.  The clock in the little inn struck eight, and it sounded clear and sharp in the stillness.

“Can it be so late?” asked Ruth.

“I should not have thought it possible,” answered Mr. Bellingham.  “But, never mind, you will be at home long before nine.  Stay, there is a shorter road, I know, through the fields; just wait a moment, while I go in and ask the exact way.”  He dropped Ruth’s arm, and went into the public-house.