She was lying upon a couch, her head resting upon her folded arms.

She was asleep, and in a place most solitary.

Behind the cabin rose a black forest of pines, pricking the sky with their black spires, and in front of it the ground fell sharply to the valley, in which no light gleamed; beyond the valley rose the dim hills again.

Nor was there any sound except the torrent.

The air at this height was keen and fresh with a smell of primeval earth.
Wogan hitched his cloak about his throat, and his boots rang upon the rock.