We must have ascended some twelve or thirteen hundred feet. The higher summits of the mountains to right and left of the pass are, I am told, close upon two thousand feet in height, if not more.
The road went gradually upward to a central ridge, on this side of which all streams run towards Beckdale, gathering quickly into a small river. Beyond the ridge, the watershed is all the other way.
After the first rapid rise from Beckdale we had some three or four miles of comparatively slight ascent and descent. This was the actual pass; a desolate and wildly beautiful region. To our left, as we went, were broken hills, with mountain heights beyond: to our right was one grand continuous sweep of steep slopes, like a broad flowing mountain-skirt, extending for miles unbroken, the summit throughout those miles seeming to keep always one even height.
Short grass covered these grand slopes, varied by patches of heather and abundant bracken; and long walls ran down at intervals from top to bottom. The excessive steepness of the higher parts was—or ought to have been—apparent to us, from the fact that no actual walls could there be built, flat layers of stones taking their place.
About half-way through we sat down by the roadside, to enjoy our well-earned lunch.
Till then, when we were ourselves quiet, I had not fully realised the absolute stillness of the scene. As we sat together, gazing and not talking, the absence of sound and of life seemed oppressive. No trees grew near. No birds were visible. I did not notice any insects. One old horse browsed in lonely content, by the roadside. One cart, containing a man and woman, had gone by ten minutes earlier. Some sheep dotted the lofty slopes. The trickle of a stream was faintly audible: and now and then a distant low bleat could be heard. That was all.
"Would you care to live here, Miss Con?" Thyrza asked.
"Hardly," I said. "One would at least wish for a few human beings within reach, to be kind to."
"That is like you," she made answer quickly. And presently she asked, "Miss Con, do you remember speaking of The Fell as a picture of Truth,—different people seeing different sides from different standpoints?"
"It is a favourite idea of mine," I said.