Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-01-28
SUNDAY MAGAZINE for JANUARY 20. 1906
s. I r n / G z L

Continued from page 4

upon our way, since there is neither
profit nor honor to be gained, nor any
hope of advancement.
Awkward, having unstrung his bow,
had remounted his horse during this
conversation, and the two rode swiftly
past the little squat Chapel of the Martyr
and over the brow of the hill. From the
summit they looked back. The in ured
archer lay upon the ground, with several
of his comrades gathered in a knot
around him. Others ran aimless1y up the
hill, but were already far behind. The
leader sat motionless upon his horse,
and as he saw them look back he raised
his hand and shrieked his curses at them.
An instant later the curve of the ground
had hid them from view. So, amid love
and hate, Nigel babe adieu to the home
of his youth.
And now the comrades were journey
ing upon that old, old road which runs
across the south of England and yet
never turns toward London, for the good
reason that the place was a poor hamlet
when first the road was laid From
Winchester, the Saxon capital, to Canter-
bury, the holy city of Kent, ran that
ancient highway, and on from Canter-
bury to the narrow straits where, on a
clear day, the farther shore can be seen.
Along this track as far back as history
can trace the metals of the west have
been carried and passed the pack-horses
which bore the goods which Gaul sent in
exchange. Older than the Christian
faith and older than the Romans, is the
old road. North and south are the woods
and the marshes, SO that only on the high
dry turf of the chalk land could a clear
track be found. The Pilgrims Way, it
still is Called but the pilgrims were the
last who ever trod it, for it was already
of immemorial age before the death of
Thomas gave a new reason why folk
should journey to the scene of his murder.
From the hill of Weston Wood the
travellers could see the long white band
which dipped and curved and rose over
the green downland, its course marked
even in the hollows by the line of the old
yew-trees which thanked it. Neither
Nigel nor Awkward had wandered far
from their own country and now they
rode with light hearts and eager eyes
taking note of all the varied pictures
of nature and of man which passed before
them. To their left was a billy country,
land of rolling heaths and woods, broken
here and there into open spaces round
the occasional farm house of a franklin.
Hackhurst Down, Dunley Hill and Ran
more Common swelled and sank, each
merging into the other. But on the right,
after passing the village of Shere and the
old church of Gomshall, the whole south
country lay like map at their feet.
There was the huge wood of the Weald,
one unbroken forest of oak trees stretch
ing away to the South Downs, which rose
olivegreen against the deep blue sky.
Under this great canopy of trees strange
folk lived and evil deeds were done. In
its recesses were wild tribes, little changed
from their heather ancestors who danced
round the altar of Thor, and well was it
for the peaceful traveller that he could
tread the high open road of the chalk
land with no need to wander into so
dangerous a tract, where soft clay,
tangled forest and wild men all barred
his progress.
But apart from the rolling country
upon the left and the great fOreSt hidden