There the cover ceased wholly, and below them lay the glen of the Laver.

Steep green banks descended to a stream which swept in coils of gold into the eye of the sunset.

A little farther down the channel broadened, the slopes fell back a little, and a tongue of glittering sea ran up to meet the hill waters.

The Laver is a gentle stream after it leaves its cradle heights, a stream of clear pools and long bright shallows, winding by moorland steadings and upland meadows; but in its last half-mile it goes mad, and imitates its childhood when it tumbled over granite shelves.

Down in that green place the crystal water gushed and frolicked as if determined on one hour of rapturous life before joining the sedater sea.
Heritage flung himself on the turf.
"This is a good place! Ye gods, what a good place! Dogson, aren't you glad you came?
I think everything's bewitched to-night.