Book Two The Woman - Chapter 27 The Epileptic

Now, when the prayer was ended, I turned my back upon the
lightening east and set off along the lane.

But, as I went, I heard one hailing me, and glancing round, saw
that in the hedge was a wicket-gate, and over this gate a man was
leaning. A little, thin man with the face of an ascetic, or
mediaeval saint, a face of a high and noble beauty, upon whose
scholarly brow sat a calm serenity, yet beneath which glowed the
full, bright eye of the man of action.

"Good morning, friend!" said be; "welcome to my solitude. I wish
you joy of this new day of ours; it is cloudy yet, but there is a
rift down on the horizon--it will be a fair day, I think."

"On the contrary, sir," said I, "to me there are all the
evidences of the bad weather continuing. I think it will be a
bad day, with rain and probably thunder and lightning! Good
morning, sir!"

"Stay!" cried he as I turned away, and, with the word, set his
hand upon the gate, and, vaulting nimbly over, came towards me,
with a broad-brimmed straw hat in one hand and a long-stemmed
wooden pipe in the other.

"Sir," said he, "my cottage is close by; you look warn and jaded.
Will you not step in and rest awhile?"