The branches of the tall trees, centuries old, swayed
gently to and fro, and threw long, cool shadows across the occasional
open spaces, where the wild forest flowers rested on the breast of the
moss-covered earth. An occasional pool of water, lying silent and
placid, mirrored the clear, blue sky with its fleecy clouds, which
seemed to intermingle with the tall green branches, as both cast their
reflection in the water beneath. Only the soft rustling of the leaves,
and the hum of thousands of insects as they sang together a sweet,
dreamy forest song was to be heard. The very sunbeams seemed to echo
this melody as they followed closely the two wanderers, as if this man
and woman had come beneath their ban and would have some penalty to pay
for crossing their shining path so carelessly. Suddenly an unexpected
barrier stood in their way. From a thickly wooded elevation, a broad
mountain stream came rushing down, seeking its way between bushes and
rocks. Rojanow halted abruptly and cast a quick glance up and down, to
see if any means of crossing were to be found, but his eyes could
discover nothing, and turning to his companion, he said:
"I fear we are in an unpleasant situation here. This stream barricades
our path completely. Usually it is no hard matter to cross it, for those
mossy stones make a good enough bridge, but yesterday's heavy rain has
misplaced them or covered them completely.
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