| Author: | Fergus Hume | ISBN: | 9781465617545 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria | Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Fergus Hume |
| ISBN: | 9781465617545 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria |
| Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
It was a sultry July afternoon, and in the azure arch of the firmament flamed an unclouded sun. The corn was ripening to a rich yellow in some meadows, and the newly mown hay in others was being piled on lumbering wains by perspiring laborers. The red earth of the sunken lanes was caked, and their blossoming hedges were burnt up by the merciless heat. Under spreading foliage, or knee-deep in rapidly drying pools, stood weary cattle, switching lazy tails to brush away the teasing flies. Honey-bees, ostentatiously industrious, buzzed noisily from flower to flower, and the sleepy birds twittered faintly midst the grateful shade of leaves. The land was parched for want of rain, and the languid hours dragged on slowly to the wished-for evening. On some such day, long ago, must Elijah have sent his servant up the mount to watch for the growing of the small black cloud. Only by the trout stream was the weather endurable, for the overhanging trees made the atmosphere of translucent green deliciously cool. Yet here and there spears of dazzling light pierced through the emerald twilight to smite the waters. These moved smoothly in amber floods between the grassy banks, and in places swirled pearly-white round moss-grown stones. The stream brawled over pebbles, gushed through granite rifts, and gloomed mysteriously in deep and silent pools, gleaming mirror-like under exposed tree trunks. May-flies dipped to the waters, swallows darted through the warm air, and kingfishers glanced here and there, each a flash of blue fire. And ever the river talked to the voiceless woods as it babbled seawards. From the woods came no reply, for the wind had died away, and the tongues of multitudinous leaves could no longer speak. Had they been able even to whisper, they surely would have rebuked the gay spirits of the two young men who had invaded their sacred solitude.
It was a sultry July afternoon, and in the azure arch of the firmament flamed an unclouded sun. The corn was ripening to a rich yellow in some meadows, and the newly mown hay in others was being piled on lumbering wains by perspiring laborers. The red earth of the sunken lanes was caked, and their blossoming hedges were burnt up by the merciless heat. Under spreading foliage, or knee-deep in rapidly drying pools, stood weary cattle, switching lazy tails to brush away the teasing flies. Honey-bees, ostentatiously industrious, buzzed noisily from flower to flower, and the sleepy birds twittered faintly midst the grateful shade of leaves. The land was parched for want of rain, and the languid hours dragged on slowly to the wished-for evening. On some such day, long ago, must Elijah have sent his servant up the mount to watch for the growing of the small black cloud. Only by the trout stream was the weather endurable, for the overhanging trees made the atmosphere of translucent green deliciously cool. Yet here and there spears of dazzling light pierced through the emerald twilight to smite the waters. These moved smoothly in amber floods between the grassy banks, and in places swirled pearly-white round moss-grown stones. The stream brawled over pebbles, gushed through granite rifts, and gloomed mysteriously in deep and silent pools, gleaming mirror-like under exposed tree trunks. May-flies dipped to the waters, swallows darted through the warm air, and kingfishers glanced here and there, each a flash of blue fire. And ever the river talked to the voiceless woods as it babbled seawards. From the woods came no reply, for the wind had died away, and the tongues of multitudinous leaves could no longer speak. Had they been able even to whisper, they surely would have rebuked the gay spirits of the two young men who had invaded their sacred solitude.
