A wild joy seized and shook her.
The soft, mysterious glades, beneath vast, leafy domes, seemed
enchanted ground. The hoofs of Icon thudded softly on the moss. The
stillness seemed alive with whispering life. Rabbits sat still to
peep, then whisked and ran. Great birds rose suddenly, on whirring
wings. Tiny birds, fearless, stayed on their twigs and sang.
There was scurrying among ferns and rocks, telling of bright, watchful
eyes; of life, safeguarding itself, unseen. Yet all these varied
sounds, Nature disturbed in the shady haunts which were her rightful
home, did but emphasize the vast stillness, the utter solitude, the
complete remoteness from human dwelling-place.
Shining through parted boughs and slowly moving leaves, the sunlight
fell, in golden bars or shifting yellow patches, on the glade.
The joy which thrilled his rider, seemed to communicate itself to Icon.
He galloped over the moss on the broad rides, and would scarce be
restrained when passing between great rocks, or turning sharply into an
unseen way.
Mora rode as in a dream. "I ride to my husband," she cried to the
forest, "and I choose to ride alone!" And once she sang, in an
irrepressible burst of praise: "_Jesu dulsis memoria_!" Then, when she
fell silent: "_Dulsis_! _Dulsis_!" carolled unseen choristers in leafy
clerestories overhead. And each time Icon heard her voice, he laid
back his ears and cantered faster.
Not far from her journey's end, the way lay through a deep gorge in the
very heart of the pine wood.
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