138 BIRD LIFE ON ISLAND AND SHORE 
of the storm about to strike the island woods, 
and set them swaying, yet moments and then 
minutes passed. The dew continued to fall, the 
smoke of our whare fire ascended straight. There 
arose no puff of ashes from the unswept hearth, 
no whirlwind stirred the broken bents. The calm 
of summer night endured. It was a confounding 
of the senses, “an elfin storm from fairyland,” 
unfelt, aloof, mysterious. At our feet the leaves 
lay motionless; above our heads we heard the 
magic gale that never reached its goal, the rushing 
mighty wind that varied in tone from a soft 
swoosh to a more audible blast, as the airs of 
night caught and kept or carried the sound afar. 
Twice we were thus deceived; twice we ran out 
of the hut to note the threatened change of 
weather. Then what we had heard with our 
outward ears became part of our island experience ; 
the far-distant, rapid, vibratory hum we learnt to 
recognise as beating of innumerable wings. 
Above these unspoiled isles of the clean un- 
peopled south the hosts of heaven had come forth 
to stretch their wings, to sweep and swirl in rap- 
ture of untrammelled liberty, to play in their 
innumerable legions over the great deep. For 
the night they were rid of their endless bliss—oh, 
the heat of these weary golden streets! Oh, the 
blinding glare of these gates of pearl! The cool- 
ness of night was theirs again, the fragrant sea, 
