It was six o'clock on a bright May evening when he reached Ulverston.
He ordered a fly, and drove at once to the Priory. More than half that
busy town of Rutsford belonged to the Carruthers. They were lords of the
manor, masters of the soil. To them belonged also the fertile lands, the
profitable farms, the hop gardens, and broad meadows that stretched
between Rutsford and the Priory.
As the lawyer drove through this rich inheritance, his wonder increased.
What could possess any man blessed with such a birthright to place
himself in so false and degraded a position?
Then the carriage entered the Ulverston woods, said by connoisseurs to
be the finest and most picturesque in England. Such a glorious sight on
this May evening as made the lawyer's heart beat, though many years had
passed since the fountain of poetry flowed for him. The hawthorn and
chestnut trees were all in flower; the maple and ash wore their most
luxuriant foliage. The grand old oaks in their leafy boughs concealed
myriads of singing birds; underneath the shade of the trees, the blue
hyacinths stretched out like the waves of the azure sea, the violets hid
their modest heads, great golden primroses shone like stars from the
midst of green leaves. The air was sweet and warm; the music of the
birds and the whispers of the wind were full of melody.
"A man possessed of all this," thought Mr. Forster again; "he must be
mad.
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