The tower seemed to rock in the wind.

They looked over miles and miles of wooded country, and country with gleams of pasture.
The crypt underneath the manor was beautiful, and in perfect preservation.

Paul made a drawing: Miriam stayed with him.

She was thinking of Mary Queen of Scots looking with her strained, hopeless eyes, that could not understand misery, over the hills whence no help came, or sitting in this crypt, being told of a God as cold as the place she sat in.
They set off again gaily, looking round on their beloved manor that stood so clean and big on its hill.
"Supposing you could have THAT farm," said Paul to Miriam.
"Yes!" "Wouldn't it be lovely to come and see you!" They were now in the bare country of stone walls, which he loved, and which, though only ten miles from home, seemed so foreign to Miriam.

The party was straggling.