My experiences at "The Stones" had left me with the idea that but for the distracting company the hours I spent there would have been very sweet and precious in spite of the cloud in the east.

Why then, I asked, not go back on another morning, when I would have the whole place to myself?
If a cloud did not matter much it would matter still less that it was not the day of the year when the red disc flames on the watcher's sight directly over that outstanding stone and casts first a shadow then a ray of light on the altar.

In the end I did not say good-bye to the village on that day, but settled down to listen to the tales of my landlady, or rather to another instalment of her life-story and to further chapters in the domestic history of those five small villages in one.

I had already been listening to her every evening, and at odd times during the day, for over a week, at first with interest, then a little impatiently.

I was impatient at being kept in, so to speak.