e mountains by the roots. He cutteth out
rivers among the rocks; and his eye seeth every precious thing. He
bindeth the floods from overflowing; and the thing that is hid
bringeth he forth to light." He is expecting a convulsion of nature, I
remember thinking, as I went by and paused at another window myself. A
convulsion of nature! I fancy that he found it.
"There is something eerie here," I said, as I still gazed at the
scene; for the dim gigantic shapes of the hills rose round us like
sheeted ghosts, while the flying scud of the storm, filled with the
white diffusion of unseen light, every now and then opened to let the
glimpses out. "And see the witch-fires," as the rosy reflections of
our burning logs and lights danced on the whirling snow without. "Is
there anything wanting to make us feel as if we had been caught here
by some spell, and were to be held by some charm?"
"I wish I knew the charm," said Colonel Vorse, by my side, and half
under his breath. And then I felt a little angrier with myself for
coming than I had felt before.
"I often hear you talking of your belief in certain telluric forces
that must have most power among the mountains where they first had
play, and where earth is not only beneath, but is above you and around
you. Well, we are here in the stronghold of these telluric forces. I
am their old friend and ally: let me see what they will do for me."
It was true. And I half shivered with an indefinite fear that I might
be compelled, in spite of all wish and prejudice, and birthright--I,
the child of proud old colonial grandees of the South; he, the son of
a mountain farmer, who had married a mate of his own degree, and had
kept a mountain inn till fortune found him and death took her. My
father at least was the child of those proud old colonials, and I had
lived with his people and been reared on their traditions. Who my
mother was I never knew; for my father had married her in some
romantic fashion--a runaway match--and she had died at my birth, and
he had shortly followed her. I had nothing that belonged to her but
the half of a broken miniature my father had once painted of her, as I
understood. I always wore it, with I know not what secret sentiment,
but I showed it to nobody. I had sometimes wondered about the other
half, but my life had not left me much time for sentiment or
wonder--full of gayety till my grandfather's death left me homeless;
full of gayety since his friend Mrs. Mon
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