Though unclouded—he seems shrouded in his own solemn light—expecting thunder.
BULLER.
There is not much motion among the clouds.
NORTH.
Not yet. Merely what in Scotland we call a carry—yet that great central mass is double the size it was ten minutes ago—the City Churches are crowding round the Cathedral—and the whole assemblage lies under the shadow of the Citadel—with battlements and colonnades at once Fort and Temple.
BULLER.
Still some blue sky. Not very much. But some.
NORTH.
Cruachan! you are changing colour.
BULLER.