along the skies, and tumbling over the little lamps: the great lamp
had not come yet. All was in tumult. The wind seized her garments and
hair, and shook them as if it would tear them from her. What could she
have done to make the gentle creature so angry? Or was this another
creature altogether--of the same kind, but hugely bigger, and of a
very different temper and behaviour? But the whole place was angry! Or
was it that the creatures dwelling in it, the wind, and the trees, and
the clouds, and the river, had all quarrelled, each with all the rest?
Would the whole come to confusion and disorder? But, as she gazed
wondering and disquieted, the moon, larger than ever she had seen her,
came lifting herself above the horizon to look, broad and red, as if
she, too, were swollen with anger that she had been roused from her
rest by their noise, and compelled to hurry up to see what her
children were about, thus rioting in her absence, lest they should
rack the whole frame of things. And as she rose, the loud wind grew
quieter and scolded less fiercely, the trees grew stiller and moaned
with a lower complaint, and the clouds hunted and hurled themselves
less wildly across the sky. And as if she were pleased that her
children obeyed her very presence, the moon grew smaller as she
ascended the heavenly stair; her puffed cheeks sank, her complexion
grew clearer, and a sweet smile spread over her countenance, as
peacefully she rose and rose. But there was treason and rebellion in
her court; for, ere she reached the top of her great stairs, the
clouds had assembled, forgetting their late wars, and very still they
were as they laid their heads together and conspired. Then combining,
and lying silently in wait until she came near, they threw themselves
upon her, and swallowed her up. Down from the roof came spots of wet,
faster and faster, and they wetted the cheeks of Nycteris; and what
could they be but the tears of the moon, crying because her children
were smothering her? Nycteris wept too, and not knowing what to think,