text: [Themes: Religious, Romance, Historical, France, male protagonist, Christianity, well written, victorian era, romance]
  
  MUSE: An Autumn Romance
  
  The late summer of 1886 found me on the continent for the purpose of regaining my health and spirits. These had been in decline for the past few months, and it was Dr Thorne's suggestion that the best cure for me might be a change of scenery. A short stay in Ramsgate, perhaps. Or better yet, a visit to the Alps in France or Switzerland, where the fresh mountain air would do me no end of good.
  
  I had declined at first to do any such thing. I was, after all, a staid, solid clergyman of 59 years, mature enough to weather any foolish fluctuations of temper. Besides which, these frivolities cost money.
  
  The doctor's recommendation eventually reached the ears of my dear sister Emma, however, and she immediately took up the task of convincing me of the necessity of such a trip. But it was not until I obtained news about relatively inexpensive alpine destinations that I relented, and found myself packed off to the continent for a month.
  
  The month's sojourn improved my health tremendously. However, without the distraction of my usual work, I found the mountains did little to raise my spirits. And so I made my journey homeward in a state of mute distraction, even as the first brilliance of Autumn began to make itself known among the trees.
  
  All in all, it had been a smooth and uneventful trip, but for a slight pause at the channel. This was at a small French coastal village from which I chose to make my crossing, it being less expensive than the usual ferry at Calais. Here I stopped for a meal at the local inn, and then waited as my trunk was transferred from the train to pier where the boatman was waiting.
  
  It was only a minor pause....
  
  MUSE: An Autumn Romance
  
  (Please type "help" for background and documentation.)
  
  The pier stretched out into the cold waters of the English Channel from the village east of here. Overhead, I could hear the gulls swoop and cry. The brisk seaside air blew in my face, carrying with it the scent of salt. Far away, across the waves, the white cliffs of Dover could barely be seen in the grey clouded light.
  
  My trusty old steamer trunk lay here.
  
  A fishing boat was moored beside the pier and its boatman was waiting.
  
  [Author's Note: Early September, 1886. Autumn. The Victorian Era. The Rev. Dawson, 59, is off to the Continent and an unexpected Romance...]
  
  > About yourself
  Rev Stephen Dawson, vicar of St Swithin's in the diocese of Barchester. I was 59, an Anglican clergyman and a confirmed bachelor. I wore my clerical collar out of both duty and habit, and my hair and whiskers were grey with respectability. My clothes were old and my cuffs were frayed, but as I so often told my sister Emma, sometimes the old things are by far the best.
  
  > look at what you're carrying with you
  I had on my person the following items:
  my pocket New Testament
  
  > examine Testament
  Stop.
  
  From the corner of my eye, I saw her. Like an angel descended from heaven, she stood on the cobbles at the other end of the pier. Her head was partially turned away from me; I caught a flash of a delicate throat and lustrous chestnut-brown hair....
  
  > examine the Testament
  Time stood still, arrested by her presence. I had no desire to move, lest I lose sight of her. For an aching second, her parasol shielded her face from my sight.
  
  > examine the woman
  The old German gentleman, whom I recognised from the train, walked slowly up. She had been waiting for him. They walked together off towards the inn, and I lost sight of them.
  
  I was suddenly brought back to earth by the boatman's voice. "Monsieur, we must go now."
  
  > enter the boat
  Well, I could hardly leave without my trunk, could I?
  
  > examine the trunk
  I'd had this old steamer trunk since my college days. It had always served me well.
  
  > take the trunk
  Oh, but the trunk was heavy! I managed to lift it just high enough for the purpose of moving it around, but I was getting far too old for this sort of thing.
  
  > check your inventory
  I had on my person the following items:
  my trunk (which was closed)
  my pocket New Testament
  
  The boatman began to show signs of impatience.
  
  > enter boat
  I was 59, not 29, and the trunk was unwieldy. I couldn't possibly get in the boat while carrying the trunk myself.
  
  "Monsieur, I cannot wait. Tomorrow." And with that, the boatman turned, and set out across the channel.
  
  > enter the boat
  I was 59, not 29, and the trunk was unwieldy. I couldn't possibly get in the boat while carrying the trunk myself.
  
  > take the trunk
  "Pardon, Monsieur?" The boatman seemed to have been thrown into a state of utter linguistic confusion.
  
  > give the trunk to the boatman
  I passed the trunk to the boatman, who loaded it carefully on the boat.
  
  The boatman began to show signs of impatience.
  
  > enter boat
  Sighing, I got into the boat and took a seat. As we set out across the waves, I realized how much I dreaded looking back, lest I catch sight of her once more ... knowing that if I did, my heart would probably burst....
  
  "Stephen, do cheer up."
  
  Emma's voice was laced with concern. I didn't know what to tell her, what to say.... I was 59. A mature, respectable clergyman of conservative tastes. Could I say that I'd fallen in love, in the space of a second, with the merest glimpse of a lady less than half my age?
  
  Could I? I don't know.
  
  I can't concentrate on my work. When I close my eyes, all I can see is that shimmering angel at the other end of the pier....
  
  And I wonder....