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I. A Face on Which Time Makes but Little Impression

           Thespotwas,indeed,anearrelationofnight,andwhennightshoweditselfanapparenttendencytogravitatetogethercouldbeperceivedinitsshadesandthescene.Thesombrestretchofroundsandhollowsseemedtoriseandmeettheeveninggloominpuresympathy,theheathexhalingdarknessasrapidlyastheheavensprecipitatedit.Andsotheobscurityintheairandtheobscurityinthelandclosedtogetherinablackfraternizationtowardswhicheachadvancedhalfway.

           Theplacebecamefullofawatchfulintentnessnow;forwhenotherthingssankbroodingtosleeptheheathappearedslowlytoawakeandlisten.EverynightitsTitanicformseemedtoawaitsomething;butithadwaitedthus,unmoved,duringsomanycenturies,throughthecrisesofsomanythings,thatitcouldonlybeimaginedtoawaitonelastcrisis—thefinaloverthrow.

           Itwasaspotwhichreturneduponthememoryofthosewholoveditwithanaspectofpeculiarandkindlycongruity.Smilingchampaignsofflowersandfruithardlydothis,fortheyarepermanentlyharmoniousonlywithanexistenceofbetterreputationastoitsissuesthanthepresent.TwilightcombinedwiththesceneryofEgdonHeathtoevolveathingmajesticwithoutseverity,impressivewithoutshowiness,emphaticinitsadmonitions,grandinitssimplicity.Thequalificationswhichfrequentlyinvestthefacadeofaprisonwithfarmoredignitythanisfoundinthefacadeofapalacedoubleitssizelenttothisheathasublimityinwhichspotsrenownedforbeautyoftheacceptedkindareutterlywanting.

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