Barrows, antiquaries and knowledge

In a certain light, the mark seems to stand out from the wall and cast a shadow, like a small mound. That reminds her of the barrows (ancient mounds) on the South Downs, which may be tombs, or old camps.

She imagines an antiquary (a collector of old things), a retired colonel, who enjoys writing letters to the local clergy and travelling to county towns to argue his case, while his wife makes jam.

In the end he argues for the camp. But he has a stroke before he can read his pamphlet to the society. His arrow-head ends up in a museum, among a jumble of odd objects.

Nothing is proved; nothing is known. Even finding out that the mark is an old nail would give her nothing but more speculation.

Learned men, she says, are the descendants of witches and hermits. She dreams of a quiet world without professors or specialists, where thought moves freely, like a fish through water.