It was a grey day, but the glass was high, and Anstice preferred a cool day to a sunny one. Now as she trod the soft, springy turf and mounted higher and higher, she felt as if all her difficulties and household cares had flown away. Curlews wheeled about above her head, but save for the bleating of the sheep across the Fells, no other sounds disturbed her. She crossed a high ridge, then descended into a valley. Her path wound in and out at the bottom, under the shadow of high crags above her, and as she went on and on, it seemed to get wilder and more desolate. Once or twice, pedestrians crossed her path. Two youths with knapsacks on their backs directed her towards the lake of which she was in quest. The Fells on each side of her seemed to be gradually narrowing the valley, and then a sudden turn brought her in sight of her goal.
There the water lay, surrounded by green walls of wooded heights; behind were the purple mountains. A small white farm-house on one side and two cottages on the other were all the signs of human habitation. Then as she went on down a green lane arched over by hanging trees, she came upon a tiny grey rough-stoned house, and about ten minutes farther on, a minute stone church, nestling amid splendid old yews. She had heard of the quaint mediæval church, so went inside. The plain dark oak roof and walls, and the massive oak beams supporting the roof—trunks of large trees rough-hewn into shape, and the cushioned seats circling round the altar rails, all delighted her artist's soul.
She wondered how many of the scattered homesteads on the Fells and in the valley congregated within it on Sundays.
Then she returned to the lake, and sitting down on a green bank, determined to have a good rest before she returned home. She ate her sandwiches and gazed about her. The extreme solitude of the place struck her afresh, and then suddenly she was aware of some one in her proximity. A young girl was sitting amongst the bracken a short way from her, with her back against an old gnarled oak. Anstice afterwards wondered what had made her speak to her. But an impulse for which she could not account made her rise and walk over to her.
"Excuse me, but do you know where I could get a glass of milk?"
The girl started and jumped up. She was a slim, dark-haired maiden, with fresh colouring, but with refined and delicate features. Her shabby gown and rather untidy hair made Anstice at first take her for some farmer's daughter, but directly she spoke, Anstice discovered her mistake.
"I think I can give you some milk, if you will follow me. The farm is the other side of the lake, but it is only a quarter of an hour's walk round the head of it."
She led the way to the small stone house near the church.
"This is the vicarage. My uncle is the vicar. Will you come in?"
"It's very good of you, but I did not mean to trouble you like this."