“Who knows why this river is called the Blue Danube? It does not carry the sky but the earth. How it turns up the soil and takes its greenish-yellow colour from it....” He leant over the side of the little boat; the water splashed up against the boat’s prow. “It reminds you of the murmur of forests and of music,” he said smilingly, “to me it sounds like cattle drinking.”
“Cattle?” Anne could not help laughing.
They reached the island. The ferryman caught hold of the bough of a willow. The keel of the boat slid creaking into the gravelly shore.
The drooping twigs brushed Anne’s face. She caught at them with her mouth and a green leaf remained between her teeth.
From the noisy, active brilliance of the river they entered moist green quietude. The grass was high and soft, the trees drooped low; and under them, in the dense shade, winged flakes of silver floated. Like a small, buzzing bell of gold, a wild bee flew up into the air.
“We shall have to look for the others,” said Anne to her brother. She became suddenly dispirited.
Christopher made a wry face. Martha insisted.
“Let us remain together,” said Thomas Illey. His voice had nothing unusual in it, yet it had an effect on Anne as if it caught hold of her and held her back. Now nobody thought any more of separation. Moss yielded softly under their feet. The boughs, like waves, opened and shut up again behind them.
“As if we walked at the bottom of a green lake....”
“The shade, too, is as cool as water.”