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Updated: May 22, 2025
Uncle Felix collected them, an exhausted crew, upon the sofa by his side. "It was very wonderful," he whispered. "We've done what no one has ever done before. We've played with the Night-Wind, and the Night- Wind's played with us. It feels happier now. It will always be our friend." "It was awfully strong," said Tim in a tone of awe. "It fairly banged me." "But awfully gentle," Judy sighed.
Her shadow it was that tremblers had feared, through long generations after her poor frame was dust; her black robe and white veil that, for timid eyes, moonlight and shade had mocked, as they fluctuated in the night-wind through the garden-thicket. Independently of romantic rubbish, however, that old garden had its charms.
The weather continued quiet; the long swell made a pleasant cradle of the boat, and the night-wind being full of dew, breathed refreshingly upon our hot cheeks; whilst our ears were soothed by the rippling noise of the running waters which seemed to cool the senses, as the breeze did the body. It was almost a dead calm, however, at daybreak next morning.
The dreamy melancholy of childhood, the long, long days, the haunted nights, the everlasting afternoons all these were in its wild, great, windy voice, the sighing, the mystery, the laughter too. The joy of strange fulfilment woke in their wind-kissed hearts. The Night-Wind was their friend; they had played with it. Now everything could come true.
"Tell us, John I quite forgot to ask till now what is that 'painful business' you mentioned, which called the sheriff to Lord Luxmore's?" John glanced at his wife, leaning fondly against him, her face full of sweet peace, then at his little daughter asleep, then round the cheerful fire-lit room, outside which the autumn night-wind went howling furiously.
It was not in the open fight We threw away the sword, But in the lonely watching In the darkness by the ford. The waters lapped, the night-wind blew, Full-armed the Fear was born and grew. And we were flying ere we knew From panic in the night. Beoni Bar>/I>. Some people hold that an English Cavalry regiment cannot run. This is a mistake.
Phantom British warships may lie at their moorings, swinging wide on the unforgetting tide, lanterns may hang high in the belfry of the Old North Church tower, hurried knocks and calls of defiance and hoof-beats of fast-galloping steed may echo and echo again, borne on the night-wind of the dim Past, but you heed them not! The Reverend John Hancock of Lexington had two sons.
Now was the ground firm and the grass sweet and flowery, and wind-worn bushes were scattered round about them, as they began to go down into the ghyll that cleft the wall of Silver-dale, and the night-wind blew in their faces from the very Dale and place of the Battle to be.
Onward rolled the carriage through the tranquil, blissful night. Oh why cannot these steeds borrow wings from the night-wind? Why cannot the soaring spirit bear aloft its earthly tenement? With divine joy and heavenly confidence you gaze at the stars. You smilingly interchange thoughts of the blissful future, whilst dire misfortune approaches, and will soon seize you in its poisonous grasp!
Out of the house, the low song of the night-wind, rising and falling over the lake and the moor, was the one sound to be heard. So the first day ended in the hospitable Shetland house. "I CONGRATULATE you, Mr. Germaine, on your power of painting in words. Your description gives me a vivid idea of Mrs. Van Brandt." "Does the portrait please you, Miss Dunross?" "May I speak as plainly as usual?"
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