22 



CHAPTER III. 



AFTER THE GOOD STAG. 



The next morning we were up and ready by four o' clock. 

 The moon and stars were still shining brightly ; the air 

 was fresh, but not cold. I went to the door of the house 

 and looked out into the night. Nothing stirred : there 

 was no sign of a single living creature being abroad : not 

 even the murmur of a rivulet was to be heard, descending 

 from the mountains to the plain, — a sound which among 

 the hills seldom fails to greet the ear, either near or in 

 the distance. But there rose around me that low hum, 

 that indescribable rustle, which is never heard but in the 

 sjjence of the night, and which seems to make the still- 

 nws palpable. From the depth of the forests before, 

 behind me, and on every side, came that low, deep mur- 

 mur tingling on the ear, as when the myriad buzzings of 

 the invisible insect world in summer unite in one drowsy, 

 hollow tone at noon. It was not loud, but it was dis- 

 tinct and very audible, even to an ear not quickly sensi- 

 tive : it came from out of the earth, and from the woods, 

 and from the sides of the mountains, and rising upwards 

 filled all the air, even up to the very hill-tops lying in the 

 cold light of the stars. Was this low sound perchance 

 the breathing of Nature in her trance-like sleep ? 



We took our rifles and set out. Until we came to the 



