The Fugitive

I asked her, "What stra

the water gurgled in the throat

ank, and the land appears as thou

arkly still, a wristlet tinkles agai

e boat to this tree,-for I

e temple dome, and the pallor of the

ess by intervening wayside trees and bushes. Still that wristlet tinkles against t

ce towers loom spectre-like

ut fasten the

under the stars, where darkness tingles with the