Then the colour rose in his face and he drew back the hand, raised it, scrutinized it smilingly, and put it quietly on his hip. Still smiling he raised his eyes again to Courtrey's face. "Courtrey," he said, this time without the Mr., "I've come to Lost Valley to stay. I had hoped to be friends with all my neighbours. It would have made my work easier. However, with or without, I stay."
Rollo took his seat at a table on the balcony in a corner opposite to the place where his uncle was writing, and spread out the map before him. His seat commanded a very extended and magnificent view. In the foreground were the green fields, the gardens, and the orchards of the lower valley.
A photograph of Bisson's or of Braun's, the name of some well-known valley, the picture of some Alpine plant, rouses the sacred hunger in our souls, and stirs again the faith in beauty and in rest beyond ourselves which no man can take from us.
It seemed as if we had both been through the Valley of the Shadow and had been led safely through by an all-wise and bountiful Father. In due time I embarked at Liverpool, on board the Mistress of the Seas, the S.S. Olympic, the largest passenger boat afloat.
"Well, uncle George," said Rollo, "are you planning our journey?" "Yes," said Mr. George; "and I am very much perplexed." "Why, what is the difficulty?" asked Rollo. "There is no possibility of getting out of this valley," said Mr. George, "except by going all the way back to Thun, and that I am not willing to do." "Is there no possible way?" asked Rollo. "No," said Mr.
One purpose, one only, brought me from Norway, forbade me to go to Scotland, drew me to Whinborough, guided me up your valley the purpose of seeing your face! It could not be said at that precise moment that he had attained it. Rather she seemed bent on hiding that face quite away from him.
"That Joyce was to be invited to a house party in June, back in 'My old Kentucky home. The invitation is from one of my old school friends. There were three of us," she went on, in answer to the look of eager interest in Mary's eyes. And now our little daughters are to meet in the same dear old valley where we played together and grew up together and learned to love each other like sisters.
Thus, a horizontal bed of rock forms a table mountain, or such as M. Bouguer found in the valley of the Madelena.
His groping mind far-off there, wandering like a lost bird over the valley, touched upon some thing again, touched and held it and this time drew it a single step closer to him. His heart beating, the blood surging in his temples, he watched with the eyes of his imagination, this gradual approach. What was coming to him? Who was coming to him?