Moods

The room fronted the west, but a black cloud, barred with red, robbed the hour of twilight's tranquilcharm. Shadows haunted it, lurking in corners like spies set there to watch the man who stoodamong them mute and motionless as if himself a shadow. His eye turned often to the window with aglance both vigilant and eager, yet saw nothing but a tropical luxuriance of foliage scarcely stirred bythe sultry air heavy with odors that seemed to oppress not refresh. He listened with the sameintentness, yet heard only the clamor of voices, the tramp of feet, the chime of bells, the variedturmoil of a city when night is defrauded of its peace by being turned to day. He watched and waitedfor something; presently it came. A viewless visitant, welcomed by longing soul and body as theman, with extended arms and parted lips received the voiceless greeting of the breeze that camewinging its way across the broad Atlantic, full of healthful cheer for a home-sick heart. Far out heleaned; held back the thick-leaved boughs already rustling with a grateful stir, chid the shrill birdbeating its flame-colored breast against its prison bars, and drank deep draughts of the blessed windthat seemed to cool the fever of his blood and give him back the vigor he had lost.