in some sort his work. The ruin bears a strong resemblance to the
mighty castle of Rochester, and though it is of course very small in
comparison with that capital fortress, it must have been a place of
some strength when Henry II. was king.

St Martin's Church, whose spire rises so charmingly out of the
orchards white with spring, has a fine western doorway and tower of
Norman work, and a chancel and south transept lighted by Early English
lancets. That tower certainly heard the rumour of St Thomas's murder,
and frightened men no doubt crowded into that western door to hear
William de Eynesford denounced from the altar.

Now when I had seen all this and reminded myself thus of that great
tale which is England, I set out on my way back to Dartford, passing
by the footpath through the park to the south-east towards
Lullingstone Castle, which, however, is not older in the main than the
end of the eighteenth century.

And then from Lullingstone through the shining afternoon I made my way
by the western bank of the Darent to Sutton-at-Hone, where there are
remains of a Priory of the Knights of St John of Jerusalem; the place
is still called St John's. The church dedicated to St John Baptist is
a not uninteresting Decorated building, the last resting place of that
Sir Thomas Smyth of Sutton Place, who was not the least of Elizabethan
navigators, director of the East India Company, interested in the
Muscovy trade, and treasurer of the Virginia Company (1625). So I came
back to Dartford and on the next day set out once more for Canterbury.

One leaves Dartford, on the Pilgrim's Road, with a certain regret, to
find oneself, at the top of the East Hill, face to face with a problem