Advancing along the lower path, after some fifteen minutes it turned sharply to the right, and I stood under the precipitous cliff-like edge of the hill in a narrow coombe.

The earth at the top hung over the verge, and beech-trees stood as it seemed in the act to topple, their exposed roots twisting to and fro before they re-entered the face of the precipice.
Large masses of chalky rubble had actually fallen, and others were all but detached.

The coombe, of course, could be overlooked from thence; but a moment's reflection convinced me there was no risk, for who would dare to go near enough to the edge to look down?
The coombe was full of fir-trees; and by them stood a long narrow shed--the roof ruinous, but the plank walls intact.

It had originally been erected in a field, since planted for covers.

This long shed, a greenish grey from age and mouldering wood, became a place of much interest.