'Each day is a step,' he answered, and then came a silence while both were thinking deeply.
They sat down to rest under a tree, the mountains before them with heavy dark clouds hanging on their sides, and the white crowns clear against the blue sky, a perfect stillness on all around, and the red glow of an Italian sunset just fading away.
'There is only one thing wanting,' said Amy. 'You may sing now. You are far from Philip's hearing. Suppose we chant this afternoon's psalms.'
It was the fifth day of the month, and the psalms seemed especially suitable to their thoughts. Before the 29th was finished, it was beginning to grow dark. There were a few pale flashes of lightning in the mountains, and at the words 'The voice of the Lord shaketh the wilderness,' a low but solemn peal of thunder came as an accompaniment.
'The Lord shall give his people the blessing of peace.'
The full sweet melody died away, but the echo caught it up and answered like the chant of a spirit in the distance--'The blessing of peace.'
The effect was too solemn and mysterious to be disturbed by word or remark. Guy drew her arm into his, and they turned homewards.
They had some distance to walk, and night had closed in before they reached the village, but was only more lovely. The thunder rolled solemnly among the hills, but the young moon shone in marvellous whiteness on the snowy crowns, casting fantastic shadows from the crags, while whole showers of fire-flies were falling on them from the trees, floating and glancing in the shade.
'It is a pity to go in,' said Amy. But Arnaud did not seem to be of the same opinion: he came out to meet them very anxiously, expostulating on the dangers of the autumnal dew; and Guy owned that though it had been the most wonderful and delightful evening he had ever known, he was rather fatigued.