high above the town. At that elevation it was quite still and warm;
the gale was only in the lower strata of the air, and he had forgotten
it in the quiet interior of the church and during his long ascent; and
so you may judge of his surprise when, resting his arms on the sunlit
balustrade and looking over into the _Place_ far below him, he saw the
good people holding on their hats and leaning hard against the wind as
they walked. There is something, to my fancy, quite perfect in this
little experience of my fellow-traveller's. The ways of men seem
always very trivial to us when we find ourselves alone on a
church-top, with the blue sky and a few tall pinnacles, and see far
below us the steep roofs and foreshortened buttresses, and the silent
activity of the city streets; but how much more must they not have
seemed so to him as he stood, not only above other men's business, but
above other men's climate, in a golden zone like Apollo's![17]

This was the sort of pleasure I found in the country of which I write.
The pleasure was to be out of the wind, and to keep it in memory all
the time, and hug oneself upon the shelter. And it was only by the sea
that any such sheltered places were to be found. Between the black
worm-eaten headlands there are little bights and havens, well screened
from the wind and the commotion of the external sea, where the sand
and weeds look up into the gazer's face from a depth of tranquil
water, and the sea-birds, screaming and flickering from the ruined
crags, alone disturb the silence and the sunshine. One such place has
impressed itself on my memory beyond all others. On a rock by the
water's edge, old fighting men of the Norse breed had planted a double
castle; the two stood wall to wall like semi-detached villas; and yet
feud had run so high between their owners, that one, from out of a
window, shot the other as he stood in his own doorway. There is
something in the juxtaposition of these two enemies full of tragic