Seven miles farther down it came into a lonelier part. The little folds of hill drew close, growing steeper as they approached, till the river was in a narrow valley, with steep, Wooded banks on each side. In places where the hills drew away a little from the river edge there were fields of rich pasture and apple-orchards, or, perhaps, mere covert of bramble and gorse, too thick for hounds to break. As a rule, though, the river wandered on between two high banks, which were beautiful, even on the dullest day. In summer, when the yellow ?ags were in bloom, when all the woods were in leaf, and the fern was springing, it was more than beautiful. It was haunted then by a peace which was unearthly. To be there then was like living in a very beautiful picture. It was not like being in the world.