DOI Artikel:
Frederic, Harold: The truce of the Bishop
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27806#0089
By Harold Frederic 85
the boulders, had been peering downward upon the picture of
ruin below. They glanced at one another now, with a flash of
comprehension. A little wiser than their kine, they knew that
the bittern cried only in the breeding spring-time, and this was the
tenth month of the year. One of them echoed the sound, and
when it was repeated, coming nearer, the three dragged them-
selves to their feet, and, stealing upward, stood forth on a ledge
of rock in plain view. There climbed towards them presently
another, a lean and agile man, whose bare legs brushed through
the spikes of furze and heather as if they were cased in hide, and
whose naked soles missed no footing: on the stones as he bounded
from boulder to crag.
He stood panting before them, and without speech turned to
survey the prospect spread beneath, till his breath could be overtaken.
Looking thus, his rover eye caught something the others had already
seen—a small barque, with full sails limply hanging on the still
air, down in the misty distance where the great sea ends and
Dunmanus begins. He pointed to it, and nodded his head.
“ It is to Turlogh, son of Fineen, I will be hastening now,” he
said, with abruptness. “ Show me the way.”
As the group turned, the foremost of them lifted his head and
halted.
“It is Turlogh who comes to you,” he said.
A few paces away, on the crown of the cliff, stood a man to
whom all four bent their heads. He regarded them with an eye
which asked them questions, vet shrank from hearing these if they
were to be not to his mind ; and they, knowing this well, held
their peace, and looked about them at their ease.
The Lord of Dunbeekin was an old man now, tall and slender
of frame, with much grey hair flowing upon his rounded shoulders.
His apparel of quilted jacket and cloak and tunic falling to the
The Yellow Book—Vol. VII. F mid-thigh,
the boulders, had been peering downward upon the picture of
ruin below. They glanced at one another now, with a flash of
comprehension. A little wiser than their kine, they knew that
the bittern cried only in the breeding spring-time, and this was the
tenth month of the year. One of them echoed the sound, and
when it was repeated, coming nearer, the three dragged them-
selves to their feet, and, stealing upward, stood forth on a ledge
of rock in plain view. There climbed towards them presently
another, a lean and agile man, whose bare legs brushed through
the spikes of furze and heather as if they were cased in hide, and
whose naked soles missed no footing: on the stones as he bounded
from boulder to crag.
He stood panting before them, and without speech turned to
survey the prospect spread beneath, till his breath could be overtaken.
Looking thus, his rover eye caught something the others had already
seen—a small barque, with full sails limply hanging on the still
air, down in the misty distance where the great sea ends and
Dunmanus begins. He pointed to it, and nodded his head.
“ It is to Turlogh, son of Fineen, I will be hastening now,” he
said, with abruptness. “ Show me the way.”
As the group turned, the foremost of them lifted his head and
halted.
“It is Turlogh who comes to you,” he said.
A few paces away, on the crown of the cliff, stood a man to
whom all four bent their heads. He regarded them with an eye
which asked them questions, vet shrank from hearing these if they
were to be not to his mind ; and they, knowing this well, held
their peace, and looked about them at their ease.
The Lord of Dunbeekin was an old man now, tall and slender
of frame, with much grey hair flowing upon his rounded shoulders.
His apparel of quilted jacket and cloak and tunic falling to the
The Yellow Book—Vol. VII. F mid-thigh,