THE DOVES
I stood on the top of a sloping hillside; before me, a gold and silver sea of shifting colour, stretched the ripe rye.
But no little wavelets ran over that sea; no stir of wind was in the stifling air; a great storm was gathering.
Near me the sun still shone with dusky fire; but beyond the rye, not very far away, a dark-blue storm-cloud lay, a menacing mass over full half of the horizon.
All was hushed . . . all things were faint under the malignant glare of the last sun rays. No sound, no sight of a bird; even the sparrows hid themselves. Only somewhere close by, persistently a great burdock leaf flapped and whispered.
How strong was the smell of the wormwood in the hedges! I looked at the dark-blue mass . . . there was a vague uneasiness at my heart. 'Come then, quickly, quickly!' was my thought, 'flash, golden snаkе, and roll thunder! move, hasten, break into floods, evil storm-cloud; cut short this agony of suspense!'
But the storm-cloud did not move. It lay as
