"Like an army defeated,
The snow had retreated,"
out of the valley, whose rich green shone smiling round the pool into
which the Debateable Ford spread. The waterfall had burst its icy
bonds, and dashed down with redoubled voice, roaring rather than
babbling. Blue and pink hepaticas--or, as Christina called them,
liver-krauts--had pushed up their starry heads, and had even been
gathered by Sir Eberhard, and laid on his sister's pillow. The dark
peaks of rock came out all glistening with moisture, and the snow
only retained possession of the deep hollows and crevices, into which
however its retreat was far more graceful than when, in the city, it
was trodden by horse and man, and soiled with smoke.
Christina dreaded indeed that the roads should be open, but she could
not love the snow; it spoke to her of dreariness, savagery, and
captivity, and she watched the dwindling stripes with satisfaction,
and hailed the fall of the petty avalanches from one Eagle's Step to
another as her forefathers might have rejoiced in the defeat of the
Frost giants.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123