Before her spread a long green vale, compared to which Whindale with its white road, its church, and parsonage, and scattered houses, was the great world itself.

Marrisdale had no road and not a single house.

As Catherine descended into it she saw not a sign of human life.

There were sheep grazing in the silence of the long June twilight; the blackish walls ran down and up again, dividing the green hollow with melancholy uniformity.

Here and there was a sheepfold, suggesting the bleakness of winter nights; and here and there a rough stone barn for storing fodder.