A neglected water-spring had been cleared of brambles and stones, and had been provided with a drinking cup, a rustic seat, and a Latin motto on a marble slab.

The spring at once reminded me of a greater body of water--a river, at some little distance farther on, which ran between the trees on one side, and the desolate open country on the other.

Ascending from the glade, I found myself in one of the narrow woodland paths, familiar to me in the by-gone time.
Unless my memory was at fault, this was the way which led to an old water-mill on the river-bank.

The image of the great turning wheel, which half-frightened half-fascinated me when I was a child, now presented itself to my memory for the first time after an interval of many years.
In my present frame of mind, the old scene appealed to me with the irresistible influence of an old friend.

I said to myself: "Shall I walk on, and try if I can find the river and the mill again ?" This perfectly trifling question to decide presented to me, nevertheless, fantastic difficulties so absurd that they might have been difficulties encountered in a dream.