The mists were lifting, lifting.

He saw the dark forms of cattle standing here and there.

The river wound, silent and mysterious, away into the dim, quiet distance.

A church clock struck, its tone vague and remote as a voice from another world.

And as if in answer to its solemn call a lark soared upwards from the meadow by the mill-stream with a burst of song.
The east was surely lightening.