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The sky was of one dense uniform
rose-color from west to east,--soft and shimmering as a broad satin
pavilion freshly unrolled,--the sun was invisible, hidden behind the
adjacent mountains, but his rays touched some peaks in the distance, on
which white wreaths of snow lay, bringing them into near and sparkling
prominence.
The whole landscape was transformed--the tall trees, rustling and
swaying in the now boisterous wind, took all flickering tints of color
on their trunks and leaves,--the grey stones and pebbles turned to lumps
of gold and heaps of diamonds, and on the other side of the rapids, a
large tuft of heather in a cleft of the rocks glowed with extraordinary
vividness and warmth, like a suddenly kindled fire. A troop of witches
dancing wildly on the sward,--a ring of fairies,--kelpies tripping from
crag to crag,--a sudden chorus of sweet-voiced water-nymphs--nothing
unreal or fantastical would have surprised Errington at that moment.
Indeed, he almost expected something of the kind--the scene was so
eminently fitted for it.


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