Now the ladies began to make their appearance, some of them going along
to the gun-room to hear what the head keeper had to say, others of them
trooping out by the front door to guess at the weather. Among the latter
was Miss Honnor Cunyngham; and Lionel, who had followed her, went up to
her.
"A beautiful morning, isn't it?" he said.
"I'm afraid it's too beautiful," said she, in reply. "Look up there."
And she was right. This was far too picturesque and vivid a morning to
portend well for a shooting-day. Down at the farther end of the strath,
the skies were banked up with dark and heavy clouds; the lake-like sweep
of the river was of a sombre and livid blue; and between the indigo
stream and the purple skies, a long neck of land, catching the sunlight,
burned the most brilliant gold. And even as they stood and looked, a
faint gray veil gradually interposed between them and the distant
landscape; a rainbow slowly formed, spanning the broad valley; and then
behind the fairy curtain of the shower they could see the yellow
river-banks, and the birchwoods, and the farther-stretching hills all
vaguely and spectrally shining in the sun.
"But this is a very peculiar glen," said she.
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