it is twilight upon the marsh: the land at the foot of the hill lies a level of dim monotony, and even the sea beyond is lost in mystery. in the middle of the plain one solitary homestead, with its clump of trees, stands out just a little darker than anything else, and from afar there comes to me the sound of the sea, sweetly lulling, as it has come to me ever since i was a little child. a chill breeze creeps up among the aspens on the cliff, and for a moment there steals over me the sense of loneliness of ten years ago, and i seem to see once more a tall, dark figure thread his way down among the trees, and disappear forever onto the wide plain. but this is only for a moment; for as i look, the past lies stretched, as the plain is stretched, before me—vivid, yet distant as a dream. the white mill detaches itself upon the dark hill-side, the cattle rest upon the quiet marsh; and still the sound of the sea comes to me, tenderly murmuring, as it did when i was a happy child, and tells me of a present that is wide and fair as, above the lonely land, the coming night is blue and vast.