Here was his dream, there was disappointment, here that flaming discovery, there this sudden terror--nothing had changed for him, the Moor, St.Arthe Church, St.Dreot Woods, the high white gates and mysterious hidden park of Portcullis House--all were as though it had been yesterday that he had last seen them.

Polchester had dwindled before his giant growth.

Here the moor, the woods, the roads had grown, and it was he that had shrunken.
At last he stood on the sand-dunes that bounded the moor and looked down upon the marbled sand, blue and gold after the retreating tide.

The faint lisp and curdle of the sea sang to him.

A row of sea-gulls, one and then another quivering in the light, stood at the water's edge; the stiff grass that pushed its way fiercely from the sand of the dunes was white with hoar-frost, and the moon, silver now, and sharply curved, came climbing behind the hill.
He turned back and went home.