 | XXI. Visions—A Phantasy |  |
21. XXI.
SOME strong, clear, shrill tones make their way to us of a sudden; first above, then somewhat in advance of us.
"Those are belated cranes flying northward," Ellis said. "Would you like to join them?"
"By all means."
Upwards we swung and in a moment more found ourselves near the moving troop.
They were large and beautiful birds, thirteen in all. Their flight was in the shape of a triangle, firm and measured the broad wings beat the air. With head and legs stretched stiff, and proudly opposing breasts, they flew on, steadily and so swiftly that they made a whistling in the air. It was a curious sight to see this warm, strong life, this unbending will at such a height and such a distance from any breathing thing. Victorious and pauseless the cranes parted the air, now and then exchanging a cry with their leader; there was something proud and grave, a certain unwavering self-reliance in this call, this interchange of speech in the cloud confines. "We will, at any cost, reach our goal," they seemed to encourage each other in turn. The thought rose involuntarily that there were but few people in Russia—yet why should I say Russia alone?—in the whole world there but few who would bear a comparison with these birds.
"We are flying in the direction of Russia," breathed Ellis. It was not the first time that I had noticed that she seemed to divine my thoughts. "Shall we turn?"
"Yes, let us turn back—or stay; I have been in Paris, take me now to St. Petersburg."
"At once?"
"At once. But cover my head with your mantle or I shall be giddy."
Ellis extended her arm, but before the mist veiled me I felt on my lips the prick of a firm, sharp needle.
| XXI. Visions—A Phantasy | |