The dark hills and clouds curtaining the run of the stretch of fields relieved her sight.
The clouds went their way; the hills were solid, but like a blue smoke; the scene here made them very distant and strange.

Those two men were still hitting, not hating one another; only to gratify a number of unintelligible people and win a success.

But the earth and sky seemed to say, What is the glory?
They were insensible to it, as they are not--they are never insensible to noble grounds of strife.

They bless the spot, they light lamps on it; they put it into books of history, make it holy, if the cause was a noble one or a good one.
Or supposing both those men loved the girl, who loved one of them! Then would Carinthia be less reluctantly interested in their blows.
Her infant logic stumbled on for a reason while she repressed the torture the scene was becoming, as though a reason could be found by her submissive observation of it.

And she was right in believing that a reason for the scene must or should exist.