Precisely at the fifteen minutes' end, she reached the Bridge, and stood there waiting.
It was a pleasant place to wait in, and Jean was in no haste. Like most natures of a finely-strung and intellectual type, hers included a strong love of solitude, and great enjoyment of a tête-à-tête with Nature. The most intimate friend standing by must in some degree detract from this peculiar happiness. Perfectly to enter into Nature's moods, to hear Nature's voices, to be swayed by Nature's influences, one must be absolutely alone with Nature—that is to say, with Nature inanimate and animate, excluding only man.
Nature's mood that day was calm. Just above the rustic bridge the river-bed narrowed, rocks rising perpendicularly on either side; and the golden water flowed between in a steadfast shoot, slanting downward through a fluted channel, which had been polished by the continual rush into smoothness. Near the base of this channel, the swift watery shoot impinged on a projecting rock—of harder texture than surrounding rocks, therefore more slowly worn away—and glanced aside in a continuous rebound, a broad sheet of water, yellow-brown and translucent, curving gracefully from left to right, the edges of the curved sheet being folded as a sheet of iron might have been folded. All this was a temporary arrangement between rock and water; for each drop of water that swept against or over the rock helped to fret away the solid substance; and each passing year would witness further changes in the river-bed.
It is always so in life. Everything tells upon everything else—everybody upon everybody else—by the mere force of impact: and nothing can stand still in a lasting changelessness.
How long the waters had been carving for themselves this fluted rock-channel, who may venture to say? No doubt in past ages, the stream had poured over opposing boulders, making a waterfall beyond: and what was then a waterfall had been since transformed into a swift shoot. Inanimate Nature is very thorough in her mode of work; never getting into a flurry, never stamping aught that she undertakes, but steadily persistent through centuries.
Trees grew around; oak mingling with birch and sycamore with beech, in a very labyrinth of foliage. Creeping ivy had embraced whole trunks, and flung itself from bough to bough. Abundant bracken crowded the banks, turning fast to brown and gold, more fair in its dying than in its fuller life. Mosses and lichens dressed the grey stones with borrowed beauty. Not a breath of air stirred, and not a leaf moved, except where one loose birch-bough near the stream swayed to and fro, swung by the breath of the rushing water. No wonder the rush was strong; for the whole river had to gather itself together and pour through this slender sluice, in the same time that it would loiter below through a bed of unlimited width capabilities. Lack of space had to be balanced by excess of speed.
Jean leant on the parapet, to gaze and listen. She gathered first the broad utterance of the stream, a continuous sound, busy and loud, not unlike the murmur of a town. Then she separated the whole utterance into its many voices, as a trained ear can separate the instruments of an orchestra, listening first to flute, then to violin, and then to 'cello. Jean could hear the little inner whispers, the low gurgles and mutters, of tiny watery whirls and waves, together with the swish of runlets checked by opposing boulders: all of which voices mingled together into one chorus.
A heavy step drawing near brought Jean to an upright position; and at once she was face to face with a gaunt man, tall though slouching, dark-browed and sullen. Jean did not like his look. In a general way, she thought nothing of meeting a stranger in a lonely spot; and personal fear had been hitherto a sensation almost unknown to her. But at the sight of this man, strange to say, fear sprang into existence. She became aware of her unprotected position.
"Good-evening," she said, as he came nearer.
It was the country custom at Dulveriford for everybody to greet everybody in passing; and Jean thought it best to speak, showing no alarm. She moved to leave the bridge, purposing to walk on and meet her father; but this plan was frustrated. The man placed himself at the entrance of the bridge, barring exit on that side.