He was forgetting everything else in a half-speculative, half-involuntary identification of himself with the objects he was looking at, thinking how far it might be possible habitually to shift his centre till his own personality would be no less outside him than the landscape--when the sense of something moving on the bank opposite him where it was bordered by a line of willow bushes, made him turn his glance thitherward. 
He was forgetting everything but the view in front of him, when the sense of something moving on the opposite bank, in the willow bushes, made him glance that way.
