Oh, yes, they're right
enough about the beauty of the place; you should see it on a fine day."
"Has anyone seen it on a fine day?" inquired Howard, with the innocent
air of one simply seeking information. "I asked a countryman in the
train if it always rained here, and he replied, 'No; it sometimes
snows.'"
"That's a chestnut," remarked Stafford, with a laugh. "But it's all
nonsense about its always being wet here; they tell me it's fine for
weeks together; that you can never tell any instant whether it's going
to clear up or not; that the weather will change like a woman--Good
heavens, look at that!"
He nodded to the east as he spoke.
Unnoticed by them, the sky had been clearing gradually, the mists
sweeping, dissolving, away; a breath of wind now wafted them, like a
veil thrown aside, from hill and valley and lake, and a scene of
unparalleled beauty lay revealed beneath them. The great lake shone
like a sapphire; meadows of emerald, woods of darker green, hills of
purple and grey, silver and gold, rose from the bosom and the edge of
the great liquid jewel; the hills towering tier on tier into the
heavens of azure blue swept by clouds like drifting snow.
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