looked as though dull sinking fires were burning on the horizon all around in a ring of flame; it was always so every morning and every evening while the sun was passing through the sign of Leo.
Musa sat and thought, How could she descend to her refuge without this lad learning the secret of it? As for him, he had taken his pipe, and was playing on it those melodious, carolling, tender little lays which had earned him his name from the people of the little mountain hamlet where he lived.
Musa, while she pondered, on her own thoughts intent, lifted her voice and sang; Zirlo sang too. The clear voices burst over the silence of the songless moor, and floated away over the silence of the buried tombs. Pan might have listened with joy had not Christ killed him.
When their voices were tired of leaping and falling, and piercing with sweet sound the drowsy heaviness of the atmosphere, they drank the water of their flasks and ate of their black crusts; the ilex leaves, black and grey against the yellow sunshine, drooping above their heads, unstirred by any breeze.
