I could have spent hours, and the hours would have
seemed like minutes, listening to that strange chorus of
ringing chiming cries, so novel was its effect, and unlike
that of any other tempest of sound produced by birds which
I had ever heard. When by way of a parting caress and
benediction (given and received) I dipped my hands in
Branscombe's clear streamlet it was with a feeling of tender
regret that was almost a pain. For who does not make a little
inward moan, an Eve's Lamentation, an unworded, "Must I leave
thee, Paradise?" on quitting any such sweet restful spot,
however brief his stay in it may have been? But when I had
climbed to the summit of the great down on the east side of
the valley and looked on the wide land and wider sea flashed
with the early sunlight I rejoiced full of glory at my
freedom. For invariably when the peculiar character and charm
of a place steals over and takes possession of me I begin to
fear it, knowing from long experience that it will be a
painful wrench to get away and that get away sooner or later I
must. Now I was free once more, a wanderer with no ties, no
business to transact in any town, no worries to make me
miserable like others, nothing to gain and nothing to lose.
Pausing on the summit to consider which way I should go,
inland, towards Axminister, or along the coast by Beer, Seton,
Axmouth, and so on to Lyme Regis, I turned to have a last look
and say a last good-bye to Branscombe and could hardly help
waving my hand to it.
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