Page 140 - The snake's pass

128 THE snake's pass. —
free from them I hurried to the top of the mountain.
The prospect was the same as yesterday. There
was the same stretch of wild moor and rugged coast,
of clustering islands and foam-girt rocks—of blue sky
laden with such masses of luminous clouds as are only
found in Ireland. But all was to me dreary and deso-
late, for the place was empty and she was not there. I
sat down to wait with what patience I could. It was
dreary work at best ; but at any rate there was hope
and its more immediate kinsman, expectation—and I
waited. Somehow the view seemed to tranquillize me
in some degree. It may have been that there was some
unconscious working of the mind which told me in some
imperfect way that in a region quite within my range of
vision, nothing could long remain hidden or unknown.
Perhaps it was the stilly silence of the place. There
was hardly a sound—the country people were all within
doors at dinner, and even the sounds of their toil were
lacking. From the west came a very faint breeze, just
enough to bring the far-off, eternal roar of the surf.
There was scarcely a sign of life. The cattle far below
were sheltering under trees, or in the shadows of hedges,
or standing still knee-deep in the pools of the shallow
streams. The only moving thing which I could see was
the car which had left so long before, and was now far
off, and was each moment becoming smaller and smaller
as it went into the distance.
So I sat for quite an hour with my heart half sick
with longing, but she never came. Then I thought I