And across this dainty harmony of color was smeared a somber, discordant smudge, staining the delicate haze of amethyst, defiling the pure sky—a wide, high area of dirty smoke, leaning from the perpendicular toward the east, spilling its dun-colored vapor downward over the pale aquarelle of hill and river and valley.
"The Alcyon Forest is afire!" exclaimed the Countess in a low voice.
"It is much farther away," said Warner.
A sudden breeze sprang up, blowing in their faces over the swaying tree tops.
"Listen!" said Philippa, touching her lips with one finger.
From an infinite distance the wind carried with it a deadened thumping sound, now regular as the dulled rolling of drums, now softly irregular, with intervals of stillness, then again spasmodic, muffled, almost inaudible.
"Are they threshing anywhere near us?" asked the Countess of her sister. "What is that pumping sound?" She turned to Warner, who made no reply.
"Do you know what it is, Jim?" demanded Peggy Brooks uneasily.
"I'm not absolutely sure.... I'll be back in a moment——" He turned and went swiftly into the house.
Philippa, leaning on the balustrade beside the Countess, said very quietly: