He turned round.

Beneath him lay the blue dark weald of Sussex, and through it he imagined the hidden line of the road driving straight as a ruler to London.
"No going about!" he said.

"If a hill was in the way the road climbed over it; if a marsh it was built through it." They rode on slowly along the great whaleback of grass, winding in and out amongst brambles and patches of yellow-flaming gorse.

The day was still even at this height; and when, far away, a field of long grass under a stray wind bent from edge to edge with the swift motion of running water, it took them both by surprise.

And they met no one.