To my own astonishment, I hesitated--walked back again along
the path by which I had advanced--reconsidered my decision, without
knowing why--and turning in the opposite direction, set my face towards
the river once more. I wonder how my life would have ended, if I had gone
the other way?
CHAPTER II
THE RIVER INTRODUCES US
I stood alone on the bank of the ugliest stream in England.
The moonlight, pouring its unclouded radiance over open space, failed to
throw a beauty not their own on those sluggish waters. Broad and muddy,
their stealthy current flowed onward to the sea, without a rock to
diversify, without a bubble to break, the sullen surface. On the side
from which I was looking at the river, the neglected trees grew so close
together that they were undermining their own lives, and poisoning each
other. On the opposite bank, a rank growth of gigantic bulrushes hid the
ground beyond, except where it rose in hillocks, and showed its surface
of desert sand spotted here and there by mean patches of health. A
repellent river in itself, a repellent river in its surroundings, a
repellent river even in its name. It was called The Loke. Neither popular
tradition nor antiquarian research could explain what the name meant, or
could tell when the name had been given. "We call it The Loke; they do
say no fish can live in it; and it dirties the clean salt water when it
runs into the sea.
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