It was all new to her: the swift passing through the crisp air without
any sensation of motion; the sleepy tinkling of the bells on the horses'
heads; the noiseless cutting through of the snow-path.
All these weeks she had known nothing of the country, and now she found
herself in the snow fairy-land of which the Disagreeable Man had often
spoken to her. Around, vast plains of untouched snow, whiter than any
dream of whiteness, jewelled by the sunshine with priceless diamonds,
numberless as the sands of the sea. The great pines bearing their burden
of snow patiently; others, less patient, having shaken themselves free
from what the heavens had sent them to bear. And now the streams,
flowing on reluctantly over ice-coated rocks, and the ice cathedrals
formed by the icicles between the rocks.
And always the same silence, save for the tinkling of the horses' bells.
On the heights the quaint chalets, some merely huts for storing wood; on
others, farms, or the homes of peasants; some dark brown, almost black,
betraying their age; others of a paler hue, showing that the sun had not
yet mellowed them into a deep rich colour. And on all alike, the fringe
of icicles.
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