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He is striding across a heath-clad moor, with stony ridges, and here and there a distant mine-chimney a desolate barren scene enough, but with sunshine, and a breeze from the unseen sea.
Across the white waste we tore, up a stiff ascent and down across the moorland again still westward; and now across the stretches of the moor I could catch the strong scent of the sea upon the wind. Along the level we sped, silent and swift beneath the moon. Here a white house by the roadside glimmered out and was gone; there a mine-chimney shot up against the sky and faded back again.
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