214 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 



that long lithe neck swiftly writhes round in all 

 directions, and his quick eye catches the glint of 

 light on the field-glass. It is enough : slowly he 

 floats up, without, as it appears, the least effort on 

 his part ; and from the trees, where she has been 

 standing all this time unseen by us, floats his mate. 

 Golden clouds mass themselves, pile upon pile, 

 behind an old tower in the distance : it is a glorious 

 closing to a glorious day. The light falls for a few 

 moments on the whole length of that lovely secluded 

 moor, making gorgeous the tree-tops and the hill- 

 sides ; purple depths are in the valley. As the 

 light shifts, those level treacherous mosses look 

 like golden carpets. The light quivers, flashes, 

 dies out, and the day is done a cloud coming 

 gradually over all. It is grey and misty, and, 

 with the light, fade the herons far up in the distant 

 sky. 



