Yet she showed only pleasure
at seeing me, and so evident a desire to unburden the day's history,
that I almost wished I might be Balaam awhile, and she--Dapple!
It would be idle to attempt to ride through these thick, glimmering
brakes. The darkness was astir. And as the moon above the valley
brightened, casting pale beams upon the folded roses and drooping
branches, if populous dream did not deceive me, a tiny multitude was
afoot in the undergrowth--small horns winding, wee tapers burning.
Presently as with Rosinante's nose at my shoulder we pushed slowly
forward, a nightingale burst close against my ear into so passionate a
descant I thought I should be gooseflesh to the end of my days.
The heedless tumult of her song seemed to give courage to sounds and
voices much fainter. Soon a lovelit rival in some distant thicket
broke into song, and far and near their voices echoed above the elfin
din of timbrel and fife and hunting-horn. I began to wish the moon
away that dazzled my eyes, yet could not muffle my ears.
In the heavy-laden boughs dim lanterns burned. There, indeed, when we
dipped into the deeper umbrage of some loftier tree, I espied the
pattering hosts--creatures my Dianeme might have threaded for a
bangle, yet breeched and armed and fiercely martial.
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