It was the quietest spot in
the world, and inspired just that sort of feeling in the contemplative
stranger which would be awakened by a ramble among the roofless
ruins of the ancient abbey. It was a home for contemplation--in
which one might easily forget the busy world without, and deliver
himself up, without an effort, to the sweetly sad musings of the
anchorite.
The place was occupied, however. A human heart beat within the
humble shed, and there was a spirit, sheltered by its quiet, that
mused many high thoughts, and dreamed in equal congratulation and
self-reproach, of that busy world from which it was an exile. The
visit of William Hinkley was not paid to the solitude. A venerable
man, of large frame, and benignant aspect, sat beneath an aged
tree, paternal in its appearance like himself. This person might be
between fifty and sixty years of age. His hair, though very thick
and vigorous, was as white as driven snow. But there were few wrinkles
on his face, and his complexion was the clear red and white of a
healthy and sanguine temperament. His brow was large and lofty.
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