Sons and Lovers - Daimon Club

At last they came into the straggling grey village of Crich,
that lies high. Beyond the village was the famous Crich Stand
that Paul could see from the garden at home. The party pushed on.
Great expanse of country spread around and below. The lads were
eager to get to the top of the hill. It was capped by a round knoll,
half of which was by now cut away, and on the top of which stood
an ancient monument, sturdy and squat, for signalling in old days far
down into the level lands of Nottinghamshire and Leicestershire.
It was blowing so hard, high up there in the exposed place,
that the only way to be safe was to stand nailed by the wind
to the wan of the tower. At their feet fell the precipice
where the limestone was quarried away. Below was a jumble of
hills and tiny villages--Mattock, Ambergate, Stoney Middleton.
The lads were eager to spy out the church of Bestwood, far away
among the rather crowded country on the left. They were disgusted
that it seemed to stand on a plain. They saw the hills of Derbyshire
fall into the monotony of the Midlands that swept away South.
Miriam was somewhat scared by the wind, but the lads enjoyed it.
They went on, miles and miles, to Whatstandwell. All the food
was eaten, everybody was hungry, and there was very little money to get
home with. But they managed to procure a loaf and a currant-loaf,
which they hacked to pieces with shut-knives, and ate sitting on
the wall near the bridge, watching the bright Derwent rushing by,
and the brakes from Matlock pulling up at the inn.
Paul was now pale with weariness. He had been responsible
for the party all day, and now he was done. Miriam understood,
and kept close to him, and he left himself in her hands.
They had an hour to wait at Ambergate Station. Trains came,
crowded with excursionists returning to Manchester, Birmingham,
and London.
"We might be going there--folk easily might think we're going
that far," said Paul.
They got back rather late. Miriam, walking home with Geoffrey,
watched the moon rise big and red and misty. She felt something
was fulfilled in her.
She had an elder sister, Agatha, who was a school-teacher.
Between the two girls was a feud. Miriam considered Agatha worldly.
And she wanted herself to be a school-teacher.
One Saturday afternoon Agatha and Miriam were upstairs dressing.
Their bedroom was over the stable. It was a low room, not very large,
and bare. Miriam had nailed on the wall a reproduction of Veronese's
"St. Catherine". She loved the woman who sat in the window, dreaming.
Her own windows were too small to sit in. But the front one was
dripped over with honeysuckle and virginia creeper, and looked