A radiance now came pouring through the eastern opening down the
gorge or cwm itself, and soon the light vapours floating about the
pool were turned to sailing gauzes, all quivering with different
dyes, as though a rainbow had become torn from the sky and woven into
gossamer hangings and set adrift.
Fatigue was beginning to numb my senses and to conquer my brain. The
acuteness of my mental anguish had consumed itself in its own intense
fires. The idea of Winifred's danger became more remote. The
mist-pageants of the morning seemed somehow to emanate from Winnie.
'No one is worthy to haunt such a scene as this,' I murmured, sinking
against the rock, 'but Winifred--so beautiful of body and pure of
soul. Would that I were indeed her "Prince of the Mist," and that we
could die here together with Sinfi's strains in our ears.'
Then I felt coming over me strange influences which afterwards became
familiar to me--influences which I can only call the spells of
Snowdon. They were far more intense than those strange, sweet, wild,
mesmeric throbs which I used to feel in Graylingham Wood, and which
my ancestress, Fenella Stanley, seems also to have known, but they
were akin to them.
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