So do the shadows of our own desires stand
between us and our better angels, and thus their brightness is eclipsed.
Everything was fresh and gay, as though the world were but that morning
made, when Mr Chester rode at a tranquil pace along the Forest road.
Though early in the season, it was warm and genial weather; the trees
were budding into leaf, the hedges and the grass were green, the air was
musical with songs of birds, and high above them all the lark poured
out her richest melody. In shady spots, the morning dew sparkled on
each young leaf and blade of grass; and where the sun was shining, some
diamond drops yet glistened brightly, as in unwillingness to leave so
fair a world, and have such brief existence. Even the light wind, whose
rustling was as gentle to the ear as softly-falling water, had its hope
and promise; and, leaving a pleasant fragrance in its track as it went
fluttering by, whispered of its intercourse with Summer, and of his
happy coming.
The solitary rider went glancing on among the trees, from sunlight
into shade and back again, at the same even pace--looking about him,
certainly, from time to time, but with no greater thought of the day
or the scene through which he moved, than that he was fortunate (being
choicely dressed) to have such favourable weather.
Pages:
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387