"
"Yours is indeed an old family."
"Ay, we have some English blood in our veins, though peasants
and the sons of peasants. But there was one of us who drew a
bow at Azincourt; and I have heard greater things, but I
believe they are old wives' tales."
"At least we have nothing left," said Sybil, "but our old
faith; and that we have clung to through good report and evil
report."
"And now," said Gerard, "I rise with the lark, good neighbour
Franklin; but before you go, Sybil will sing to us a requiem
that I love: it stills the spirit before we sink into the
slumber which may this night be death, and which one day must
be."
Book 3 Chapter 6
A bloom was spread over the morning sky. A soft golden light
bathed with its fresh beam the bosom of the valley, except
where a delicate haze, rather than a mist, still partially
lingered over the river, which yet occasionally gleamed and
sparkled in the sunshine. A sort of shadowy lustre suffused
the landscape, which, though distinct, was mitigated in all
its features--the distant woods, the clumps of tall trees that
rose about the old grey bridge, the cottage chimneys that sent
their smoke into the blue still air, amid their clustering
orchards and garden of flowers and herbs.
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