I got up and looked about me. A path into the wood now
showed itself, broader and better kept than any path that I could
remember in the days of my boyhood. The moon showed it to me plainly, and
my curiosity was aroused.
Following the new track, I found that it led to a little glade which I at
once recognized. The place was changed in one respect only. A neglected
water-spring had been cleared of brambles and stones, and had been
provided with a drinking cup, a rustic seat, and a Latin motto on a
marble slab. The spring at once reminded me of a greater body of water--a
river, at some little distance farther on, which ran between the trees on
one side, and the desolate open country on the other. Ascending from the
glade, I found myself in one of the narrow woodland paths, familiar to me
in the by-gone time.
Unless my memory was at fault, this was the way which led to an old
water-mill on the river-bank. The image of the great turning wheel, which
half-frightened half-fascinated me when I was a child, now presented
itself to my memory for the first time after an interval of many years.
In my present frame of mind, the old scene appealed to me with the
irresistible influence of an old friend. I said to myself: "Shall I walk
on, and try if I can find the river and the mill again?" This perfectly
trifling question to decide presented to me, nevertheless, fantastic
difficulties so absurd that they might have been difficulties encountered
in a dream.
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