Where next? The captain
stopped, looked across the river, brightened under the influence of a
new idea, and suddenly hastened back to the ferry.
"The Walk on the Walls," thought this judicious man, with a twinkle of
his party-colored eyes. "The quietest place in York; and the place that
every stranger goes to see."
In ten minutes more Captain Wragge was exploring the new field of
search. He mounted to the walls (which inclose the whole western portion
of the city) by the North Street Postern, from which the walk winds
round until it ends again at its southernly extremity in the narrow
passage of Rosemary Lane. It was then twenty minutes to seven. The sun
had set more than half an hour since; the red light lay broad and low in
the cloudless western heaven; all visible objects were softening in the
tender twilight, but were not darkening yet. The first few lamps lit in
the street below looked like faint little specks of yellow light, as
the captain started on his walk through one of the most striking scenes
which England can show.
On his right hand, as he set forth, stretched the open country beyond
the walls--the rich green meadows, the boundary-trees dividing them,
the broad windings of the river in the distance, the scattered buildings
nearer to view; all wrapped in the evening stillness, all made beautiful
by the evening peace.
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