Two or three coy mist-clouds, soon converted to the new
allegiance, drifted giddily about, mere flakes of rosy blushes.
The victory of the day came slowly, but sure, and then the full
morning flushed out, fresh with moisture and light and delicate
perfume. The bars of sunlight fell on the lower earth from the
steep hills like pointed swords; the foggy swamp of wet vapour
trembled and broke, so touched, rose at last, leaving patches of
damp brilliance on the fields, and floated majestically up in
radiant victor clouds, led by the conquering wind. Victory: it
was in the cold, pure ether filling the heavens, in the solemn
gladness of the hills. The great forests thrilling in the soft
light, the very sleepy river wakening under the mist, chorded
with a grave bass in the rising anthem of welcome to the new life
which God had freshly given to the world. From the sun himself,
come forth as a bridegroom from his chamber, to the flickering
raindrops on the road-side mullein, the world seemed to rejoice,
exultant in victory. Homely, cheerier sounds broke the outlined
grandeur of the morning, on which Margret looked wearily. Lois
lost none of them; no morbid shadow of her own balked life kept
their meaning from her.
The light played on the heaped vegetables in the old cart; the
bony legs of the donkey trotted on with fresh vigour. There was
not a lowing cow in the distant barns, nor a chirping swallow on
the fence-bushes, that did not seem to include the eager face of
the little huckster in their morning greetings.
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